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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 































Our Little 
West Indian Cousin 


t 


THE 


Little Cousin Series 

(trade mark) 

Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in 
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover 
per volume, $1.00 

LIST OF TITLES 


By Col. F. A. Postnikov, Isaac Taylor Head- 
land, Edward C. Butler, and Others 


Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Alaskan Cousin 
Our Little Arabian Cousin 
Our Little Argentine Cousin 
Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Australian Cousin 
Our Little Austrian Cousin 
Our Little Belgian Cousin 
Our Little Bohemian Cousin 
Our Little Boer Cousin 
Our Little Brazilian Cousin 
Our Little Bulgarian Cousin 
Our Little Canadian Cousin 
of the Maritime Provinces 
Our Little Chinese Cousin 
Our Little Cossack Cousin 
Our Little Cuban Cousin 
Our Little Czecho-Slovac 
Cousin 

Our Little Danish Cousin 
Our Little Dutch Cousin 
Our Little Egyptian Cousin 
Our Little English Cousin 
Our Little Eskimo Cousin 
Our Little Finnish Cousin 
Our Little French Cousin 
Our Little German Cousin 
Our Little Grecian Cousin 
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 


Our Little Hindu Cousin 
Our Little Hungarian Cousin 
Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Irish Cousin 
Our Little Italian Cousin 
Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 
Our Little Korean Cousin 
Our Little Malayan (Brown) 
Cousin 

Our Little Mexican Cousin 
Our Little Norwegian Cousin 
Our Little Panama Cousin 
Our Little Persian Cousin 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Polish Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Portuguese Cousin 
Our Little Quebec Cousin 
Our Little Roumanian Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 
Our Little Scotch Cousin 
Our Little Servian Cousin 
Our Little Siamese Cousin 
Our Little Spanish Cousin 
Our Little Swedish Cousin 
Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 
Our Little West Indian Cousin 


THE PAGE COMPANY 


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"JUDITH LOVED TO SIT AT THE WINDOWS WHILE 
NURSE BRUSHED OUT HER HAIR." 

(See peje 2) 





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Our Little % 

West Indian Cousin 4 

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B y 4 

Emily Goddard Taylor 

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Illustrated, by 4 

Elizabeth R. Withington 

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Boston 

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Copyright, 1922 
By The Page Company 


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PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY 
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A. 


MY -4 192? 

§)CI. A661532 


TO MY FATHER, 

WHOSE BOYHOOD HOME 
WAS IN THIS ENGLISH ISLAND 
OF 

BARBADOS 
























PREFACE 


Away down in the Caribbean Sea, where 
the water is more blue than the bluest of sap- 
phires, there lies a little island of coral. It 
is not Spanish, as Cuba and Porto Rico were, 
and indeed are still in their language and cus- 
toms. It is not foreign at all, though it is so 
many hundreds of miles away, for there you 
will hear only the English tongue which you 
know so well. The land is covered with 
green fields of sugar cane, and there, too, 
grow oranges and grapefruit, bananas and 
pineapples, cocoanuts and limes, with many 
other tropical fruits and flowers and trees. It 
is of this ever English Island of Barbados 
that I am going to tell you, but first we must 
come “down the Islands” as people say, and 
have at least a peep at the others of this Car- 
ibbean chain. 

We sail from our own city of New York, 
through the North River, out into the great 
Atlantic Ocean, and then far-away to the 
South, to see with our very own eyes the 
islands that Columbus discovered more than 
four hundred years ago. 


VI 


Preface 


Down the coast we sail, past the Bermuda 
Islands which lie off South Carolina, past the 
Bahamas, which are south of Florida, beyond 
the Greater Antilles, and then, if you will look 
at your map, you will see a little chain of 
islands like tiny dots upon the ocean. The 
chain begins to the East of Porto Rico and 
extends almost to the coast of South America, 
and these are the Islands of the Caribbean 
Sea. 

On the second day out, we cross the Gulf 
Stream, and as we lean on the taffrail we notice 
that the water is a deep and wonderful blue 
with great masses of golden seaweed floating 
upon its surface, while hundreds of flying-fish 
skim the waters about the ship and sometimes 
even fall upon the decks. When attacked by 
larger fish these little flying-fish have no other 
means of protection than their wing-like fins 
which carry them in safety above the water. 
When we see them we know that we are 
nearing tropic lands. 

At night, too, we sit upon deck in the soft 
warm air, watching the stars sailing by, and 
watching also for the light of a little rocky 
island called the Sombrero, for the sailors 
tell us that when we see this we have reached 
the West Indies. 


Preface 


vii 

After we have been sailing for five days and 
nights, we come to the first of these fairy isles, 
as they seem to us, so different are they from 
anything that we have ever seen before. 

The Island of St. Thomas rises a beautiful 
green mountain from the blue sea, its harbor 
a great sheltered bay, where many ships ride 
at anchor. The little town is very quaint, 
with streets turning into steps and going up 
hill, and red-roofed villas with gardens more 
beautiful than any you have ever seen in the 
North, for they are filled with wonderful 
tropical flowers — orchids and roses, coralita 
and jessamine, frangipani, stephanotis, garde- 
nias and many rare and lovely ferns, with all 
of which you are going to become familiar in 
your visit to this little West Indian Cousin. 

Santa Cruz, or St. Croix, is but a few hours 
sail from St. Thomas, and when we enter its 
harbor, we find it a land of sugar, for up the 
very sides of its mountains the cane fields 
climb. 

These two islands belonged for many years 
to that far away country, Denmark, but since 
1917 they have become the property of the 
United States, and are called the “Virgin 
Islands of America.” 

The Island of St. Kitts was named by 


Preface 


viii 

Columbus himself after his patron saint, St. 
Christopher, for when he first saw it, the shape 
of the mountain reminded him of the beautiful 
story of St. Christopher carrying the Christ 
Child. 

Alexander Hamilton, one of our great 
American statesmen, was born upon the little 
Island of Nevis, which lies close to St. Kitts. 
Here he lived until he was eleven years old, 
working, it is said, in his uncle’s store on the 
water front, and ever looking across the blue 
waters and longing for the day when he would 
sail to the great new country of America. 

When we have come to the Island of Mont- 
serrat, we find lime orchards in place of the 
sugar plantations of other islands. Have 
you ever seen this little green or yellow fruit 
in the market places at home? It is really 
first cousin to the lemon, but smaller, and with 
a finer skin, and the juice made into limeade 
is far sweeter and more refreshing than lemo- 
nade. 

I find baskets of them sometimes in the 
Northern markets, and forgetting where I 
am, I pretend to be living again in these beau- 
tiful tropical islands where they grow, and see 
before me the lime trees with glossy leaves, 


Preface ix 

and Branches laden with fruit, or fragrant 
^blossoms. 

And now we come to the beautiful French 
Islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique. They 
are very mountainous and very lovely to look 
upon, and very interesting too, if we had but 
time to stop upon them. Here, instead of 
the white dress and turban of the negro women 
of other islands, we see gay turbans and short- 
waisted flowing dresses of brilliant colors. And 
in place of the English tongue which is spoken 
by most people, even of St. Thomas and St. 
Croix, we hear the fascinating French patois. 

And what gay scenes in the market places, 
where the country people come from far and 
near to sell their produce ! They sit cross- 
legged upon the ground with wooden trays be- 
fore them — trays piled high with yams and 
sweet potatoes, with fresh greens and luscious 
fruits — pineapples, grapefruit, bananas, limes, 
tangerines, oranges, and many other wonder- 
ful fruits of which I am going to tell you, 
green cocoanuts, yellow water-melons, golden 
apples with their big thorny seeds, and great 
shaddocks heavy with juice. Trays too of gate- 
aux sucre little sugared cakes, and homemade 
sweets. 


X 


Preface 


Martinique, you remember, was the birth- 
place of the French Empress Josephine, the 
wife of Napoleon Bonaparte. She was born 
upon a sugar estate called La Pagerie, at the 
little town of Trois Islets, and a beautiful 
statue of her stands in the savannah here at 
Fort de France. 

Here she lived, a happy little girl in her 
father’s house, not dreaming that she would be- 
come a French queen. It is true that a Gypsy 
foretold her future, but I do not believe the 
little island maid thought very much then of 
the fortune-teller’s words. 

Dominica and St. Lucia are two beautiful 
mountainous islands also; very verdant, with 
lovely fertile valleys and rivers swarming with 
fish. Both Islands belong to England now, 
though at one time they were French posses- 
sions. 

Dominica was the scene of the great naval 
battle between the French and the English, 
when the English Admiral, Lord Rodney, won 
back the islands lost to England and won others 
too for his country. 

In Dominica and St. Vincent, which lies fur- 
ther South, live the last of the Caribs, the 
native Indians of the Caribbean Islands, who 
are skillful fisherman and basket makers. They 


Preface 


XI 


were so ill-treated by the cruel Spaniards that 
they came to look upon all white men as their 
enemies. Among the early settlers they were 
either killed or driven from their island homes, 
until, like our Red Indians of North America, 
they have become almost extinct. 

And now we have come “down the Islands” 
and are at our journey’s end for the present, 
for we have come to the Island of Barbados. 
Our ship has dropped anchor in the blue waters 
of the Bay, and all about us are little boats 
rowed by black boatmen beseeching us to come 
ashore. There are plenty of great ships too 
in the harbor, and we see our own “Stars and 
Stripes” among the multitude of foreign 
colors. 

Before us stretches the Island, emerald 
green, with tall palms shading white villas; 
and soon we have climbed down the gangway 
and dropped into one of the little boats and 
are rowing to land, across the dancing shimmer- 
ing waters. Presently we come to the wharf, 
and mounting the wide landing steps, set out 
to visit a little girl who has lived here all her 


Publisher’s Note 


The Little Cousin Series already includes 
volumes on Cuba and Porto Rico, so that Barbados 
has been chosen as the scene of the present volume, 
which includes also mention of the other British 
Islands — Bermuda, Sombrero, St. Christopher, 
Nevis, Montserrat, Tobago, Dominica, St. Lucia, 
St. Vincent, Grenadines, Grenada, Trinidad; the 
French Islands — Guadeloupe and Martinique; and 
the former Danish Islands — St. Thomas and St. 
Croix — now, since 1917, the Virgin Islands be- 
longing to America. 


Contents 

CHAPTER PAGE 

Preface v 

I. Judith i 

II. The Holidays 21 

III. The Holidays at Nicholas Abbey . 40 

IV. School Days 63 

V. Christmas 84 



List of Illustrations 

PAGE 

“ Judith loved to sit at the windows 
while Nurse brushed out her hair.” 

(See page 2) .... Frontispiece 

“They were black women with trays of 

FRUIT UPON THEIR HEADS ” . . . . IO 

“ Washer-women with turned-up skirts 

STOOD ANKLE-DEEP IN THE WATER ” . . 1 6 

“ Watching a small black boy shinny up 

A COCOANUT TREE” 5 1 

“Judith fed them with bananas” . . 67 

“The whole street looked like one long 

BAZAAR ” 8l 



Our Little West Indian 
Cousin 


CHAPTER I 

JUDITH 

It was Saturday morning, and Judith’s half- 
opened eyes gazed sleepily at the familiar ob- 
jects of her own pretty room, and out through 
the wide windows to the blue tropic sky and 
the royal poinciana tree, its scarlet blossoms 
brilliant in the morning sunshine. 

She wondered lazily why Nurse was not 
there calling her to get up and dress for school, 
and then suddenly remembered it was Saturday, 
a glorious holiday, and diving through the net 
curtains of her little bed, she slipped into her 
dressing-gown and ran down the half flight of 
steps that led to the bath. 

The cool shower sent her fresh and rosy 
back to her dressing-room, where old Nurse 
was waiting to help her little mistress. Nurse’s 
faithful black hands had cared for “Miss Ju- 
dith” since she was a tiny baby, and that meant 

i 


2 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


that she would be with her always, even when 
she was no longer able to work. 

The dressing-room jutted over the back gar- 
dens, and here Judith loved to sit at the win- 
dows while Nurse brushed out her hair. Out- 
side, this morning, the royal palms rustled 
musically in the cool breeze, white geese wad- 
dled among lime green trees, roses and lilies 
scented the air, and the soft stir of the awaken- 
ing household could be heard. 

Of all the trees in the garden, Judith loved 
best the royal palms. Looking from her win- 
dows she could see the gray pillars of the stems, 
rising straight and tall and majestic, towering 
above everything else in the garden, branching 
at the very top into great tufts of green feath- 
ery fronds. 

From the dressing-room windows too, she 
loved to watch for Damaris Deane, the little 
girl who lived in the next house, for the two 
children were great friends. Looking across 
the lime trees, she could sometimes see Dam- 
aris in her dressing-room, and they would 
have much fun making signs to each other, for 
the gardens of both houses were too large to 
talk across. 

From the front windows, the tall masts of 
ships at anchor in the harbor could be seen, 


Judith 


3 

for only the white road and the villas opposite, 
separated Galba Lodge from the blue sea. 

She was soon dressed and in the garden, 
with Julia, carrying out her early “tea” — 
chocolate and little twisted loaves of bread, 
hot from the bake shop, — to her favorite seat 
under the tamarind tree. 

Galba Lodge was a beautiful old tropical 
home. It had been built by Judith’s grand- 
father, and was large and spacious and cool. 
The house was of two stories with big rooms 
and many windows, each with its green hood 
for keeping out the rays of the tropic sun. 
All around the first floor, excepting the kitchen 
wing, was a wide, brick floored gallery, shaded 
by green slatted shutters, called Jalousies. 

The kitchen Judith always loved. It was 
stone-floored, with a huge fireplace for cook- 
ing, and here black Charlotte had many cranes 
on which to hang her pots to boil. The de- 
licious fresh fish was broiled over the flames, 
and the sweet potatoes, plantains and yams, 
roasted in the embers. Plantains are like ba- 
nanas, but a larger and harder fruit, never 
eaten raw, but roasted, or sliced and fried. 
The yam is a tropical vegetable which grows 
like the white potato of the North, but is much 
larger when dug, longer in shape, and weigh- 


4 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

ing often three and four pounds apiece. When 
the thick skin is peeled and the inside, which 
is white like the potato, is roasted, then crushed 
and buttered, it is more delicious than any po- 
tato you have ever tasted. 

Outside of the kitchen were gay parrots of 
every shade of green and scarlet, blue and 
gold; a pink flamingo picked its way daintily 
over the walks, various pussies of all sizes and 
ages basked in the sun, and among the dark 
green leaves and white blossoms of the tall 
galba trees bordering the kitchen drive, half 
a dozen monkeys were chained. 

The garden was as spacious and cool as the 
house, with an orchard of limes, shaddocks 
and guavas, and wonderful beds of flowers. 

You remember when we were journeying 
down among the Islands that we found the 
lime trees growing in Montserrat, in place of 
the sugar cane of other Islands? These same 
lime trees grow in Judith’s garden, not very 
tall, but with beautiful, glossy leaves, and 
branches laden with the small thin-skinned 
green or yellow fruit. 

The shaddock is a rind fruit belonging to 
the same family as the lime, the lemon and 
citron, the orange and grapefruit. The tree 
grows larger than any of these trees, and the 


Judith 


5 

shaddock, though very like the grapefruit with 
which you so often begin your breakfast in 
the North, is much larger, less round, and has 
a very thick skin and pith; the juicy fruit in- 
side, is much the same, however, as the grape- 
fruit. 

From the small green guava tree comes an 
oval fruit about the size of an apricot, with 
thin yellowish skin, and pinkish meat in which 
are many tiny seeds. This fruit is made into 
preserves, and a thick jam, called guava cheese, 
but most often into the delicate guava jelly 
which you perhaps, have eaten. 

Roses, white and cream and yellow, pink 
and deep velvety red, sweet-scented ginger 
lilies and masses of maidenhair fern bordered 
the entrance drive. Under the gallery win- 
dows were tall shrubs of cape jessamine, with 
flowers like the gardenias we see in the 
North — but smaller than the gardenias — and 
low trees of the beautiful frangipani, with fra- 
grant waxy blossoms of yellow, rose-pink and 
white. A coralita vine, with clusters of little 
coral-red blossoms and small, green leaves, 
crept up the gallery windows, and a royal pur- 
ple bougainvillea vine, with dark, purple-red 
flowers, clambered over the garden walls, and 
tried to reach the graceful fern-like leaves and 


6 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


scarlet blossoms of the royal poincianas, grow- 
ing by the garden gate. 

In the middle of the drive stood the old 
tamarind tree, its great branches giving a com- 
forting shade, and its broad body surrounded 
by a wooden seat, familiarly called the “circle.” 
The tamarind is not only a very beautiful tree 
with its feathery leaves and yellow flowers, 
but a useful one too, for hanging from its 
branches are short pods, from which is made 
a delightfully refreshing drink, called tama- 
rind syrup. 

Judith dearly loved the circle. When a tiny 
girl she had carried here whole families of dol- 
lies, playing happily with them until the tropic 
sun rose high and Nurse brought her in out 
of the heat. Nowadays, in place of dollies, 
she brought her story books to read, and 
always her early “tea” if there was time be- 
fore school. 

As she drank her chocolate this morning, 
she watched old Parris watering the garden 
with the help of Edward, the little black boy. 
Parris was black too, all but his hair which was 
quite white. He had been Grandfather’s 
faithful servant for sixty years, and he was 
ninety now. He could not do very much, but 
pottered about or sat in the kitchen doorway, 


Judith 


7 

watching over the fruit and flower gardens 
and over the younger folk too. 

“Hi boy!” he called, “Yo’ wants to kill dat 
rose tree? Fill up de pail,” — making a lunge 
at him with his stick. Then seeing the little 
girl, he touched his white head, “Mornin’ 
Missy,” he said, and offered her the prettiest 
rose he could find, for “little Missy” was a 
favorite. 

“Judy, Judy,” a voice called, the big garden 
gate swung open and Damaris Deane came 
dancing up the walk. 

“I’ve brought a note to your mother from 
Cousin Bessie,” she said, perching on the circle 
by Judith and holding up a white envelope. 
“It came last night and I could hardly sleep 
for I know what’s in it. Shall I tell you? 
An invitation to Nicholas Abbey for a whole 
week of the holidays. Cousin Bessie wrote to 
invite us both, and that’s how I know.” 

Nicholas Abbey! The most beautiful place 
in the world to visit! A real sugar estate, 
with boys and girls galore, the kindest of 
parents, and such fun from morning until 
night. 

“Oh,” cried Judith, “let’s find mother,” and 
together they ran to the house and upstairs to 
Mrs. Craig’s room. 


8 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


“May we come, mother? Damaris and 
I?” she called. “Come in,” a sweet voice 
answered. 

Mrs. Craig sat sewing by the shaded win- 
dow. She was a very pretty lady of English 
parentage, and had bestowed upon her little 
daughter her sunny brown hair and eyes as 
blue as the tropic sea. 

She kissed both little girls, laughing, as they 
tried to tell her in one breath the contents of 
the letter. 

“Gently, gently,” she said, “let me read it 
and see if you are really invited for a whole 
week.” Then smiling at the two bright faces 
before her, “I think you may go, if Daddy is 
willing.” 

“We’ll ask him at breakfast,” cried Judith, 
dancing around the room. 

“And I must give out breakfast, or Char- 
lotte will have nothing to cook,” said Mrs. 
Craig. “The garden is too warm for you 
now, children,” she called, as she went down 
stairs, “go and play in the school-room.” 

Curled up on one of the broad window seats, 
they discussed the joyful visit and watched for 
Mr. Craig to come. 

The school-room connected the two wings 
of the second story. It was a great square 


Judith 


9 

room, with deep seated windows overlooking 
the front and back gardens. Lesson and story 
books lined the walls and a long table filled the 
room — a great mahogany table T of native 
wood, at which two generations of boys and 
girls had studied their lessons. Here, Judith, 
too, had learned her a b c’s her multiplica- 
tion table, her “first speller’'’ and scripture 
history, until she was old enough to go to 
Queen’s College. 

What struggles she had to keep her mind 
on the sums on her little slate, while the feath- 
ery fronds of the palm branches outside waved 
to and fro, beckoning her to come out and 
play, while the blue sky and the sunshine 
and the brilliant flowers in the old garden were 
all so much lovelier to study than anything in 
books. 

“Judy, perhaps crop-time will have begun 
when we get to Nicholas Abbey,” Damaris said, 
“and that means heaps of fun. We can have 
all the fresh cane we want. Wish I had a 
piece right now, a yard long.” 

“If you had there wouldn’t be room for us 
both in this seat,” said Judith, laughing. “Give 
me pan sugar, and sling! Hot sling with 
brown biscuits! I could eat a quart of it this 
minute.” 


10 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


“Oh look there, Dame, at the monkeys !” 

Both little girls leaned out to watch some 
sellers coming up the kitchen drive. They 
were black women with trays of fruit upon 
their heads, who had, probably, walked many 
miles in from the country to sell their wares. 
They traipsed along, not seeing the monkeys 
above them, and the little girls were in gales of 
laughter, when now and then one of these 
funny animals reached down, and with its long 
arm silently removed an orange or a banana, 
deftly peeled and ate it. When one dropped 
a piece of skin, carefully, the seller lifted the 
tray from her head and looked up, “t’ief, 
t’ief,” she shouted, shaking her fist at him; 
but he only climbed up higher in the tree, while 
all the others set up a great chattering. 

“They have an orange and three bananas 
between them,” Damaris said, giggling still at 
the monkeys’ antics. 

“They often steal from orange sellers, 
but mother will pay them at the buttery,” Ju- 
dith answered. 

“Here comes the tram, and daddy is in it.” 
Both little girls raced down stairs and out 
through the garden to meet Mr. Craig at the 
gate. 

The trams are street cars drawn by strong 



“they were black women with trays of fruit 

UFON THEIR HEADS.” 



















































































• 























































































Judith 1 1 

mules, and make regular trips from the town to 
the suburbs. 

In this Island, and indeed in most of the 
tropics, business begins very early in the day. 
Mr. Craig was always in his office by seven. 
The eleven o’clock tram brought him home to 
breakfast with his family, after which he re- 
turned until four in the afternoon, when all 
business closed for the day. 

He was a big sunburned Scotch gentleman, 
with the kindest merriest face. With a little 
girl clinging to each arm, he entered the big 
dining-room, where the rest of the family were 
already assembled for breakfast. 

The dear old grandmother sat at the head, 
her snowy hair piled high under her widow’s 
cap, and Mr. Craig took grandfather’s place at 
the foot. Aunt Flo and Aunt Blanche were 
there, and Damaris, of course, for in the hos- 
pitable South there is always a place for guests. 

“Daddy, I have something to tell you,” Ju- 
dith began, when Mr. Craig’s consent to the 
visit had been given, and Julia was bringing in 
the breakfast. Such a delicious West Indian 
breakfast! First came freshly broiled fish 
with lime dressing; then cold fowl, with roast 
yam, golden sweet potatoes, creamy rice, fried 
plantains, and tea with muffins and marmalade. 


12 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


“Daddy, Miss James told me yesterday that 
next term I begin to study for my junior Cam- 
bridge exams. I know it’s going to be awfully 
hard, but I mean to do nothing but study, for 
I simply could not bear to fail.” 

Mr. Craig looked at his small daughter with 
approval. “Good,” he said, “if you feel that 
way I am quite sure you will not fail.” 

“But,” said Mrs. Drayton, “the child must 
not study too hard.” 

Every one laughed, for Granny was always 
watching over her one little grandchild, and 
there had never been any danger of letting Ju- 
dith overwork. 

“I think,” said Aunt Flo, “that she must 
have a good holiday and plenty of sea bathing, 
to build her up for all of this study.” 

“A good idea,” said Mr. Craig, “I thought 
of it to-day and wrote to Cousin Emmie to 
know if she can take us for three weeks.” 

Cousin Emmie was a dearly loved cousin, 
who had a small hotel on the beautiful eastern 
coast of the Island. Beachmount was not a 
hotel really, but a home to all within its walls. 

“Three whole weeks at Bathsheba, and then 
a week at Nicholas Abbey! Daddy!” And Ju- 
dith looked as she felt, a delightfully happy 
little girl. 


Judith 


13 

“We are going to St. Lawrence for the holi- 
days,” Damaris said, when breakfast was over 
and the two little girls went to swing in the 
hammocks in the cool gallery, “but mother 
says we will meet and go to Cousin Bessie’s to- 
gether. I almost wish we were going there 
first.” 

“I don’t,” said Judith, “I like to have a good 
time at Bathsheba with mother and Daddy, 
and think of the fun at Nicholas Abbey still 
coming. Besides, I have not been in the 
Beachmount pool for a whole year, and I just 
feel as if I could not wait another minute.” 

“You’ll have to wait a whole week Judy,” 
and we’ll have to grind, too, for our last good 
marks this term.” 

“Children, would you like to come for a 
drive with Daddy and me at four o’clock?” 
Mrs. Craig asked, when several hours later 
she found them still in the hammocks — deep 
in two story books, — Judith with “Eight Cou- 
sins,” for she dearly loved Miss Alcott’s books, 
and Damaris with Mrs. Ewing’s “Six to Six- 
teen.” 

“Yes, yes,” they both cried, and Damaris 
sped up the road to her home to get ready. 

Old Nurse was waiting in Judith’s room 
to pour the cool water from the big ewer into 


14 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

the basin, then to help her into one of her 
afternoon frocks of white India mull, and tie up 
her curls with a rose pink bow. Catching up 
her broad hat, Judith ran down stairs and out 
to the car, where Mrs. Craig was already at 
the wheel. 

Just stopping to pick up Damaris, and Mr. 
Craig at the door of his office, they drove 
through the quaint old town, past the English 
Cathedral of St. Michael, past the statue of 
Lord Nelson, which stands in the little square 
called “Trafalgar” — after the great naval 
victory he won for England — past the Public 
Buildings and the Carnegie Library, to the 
Chamberlain Bridge. 

“Oh goody,” cried Judith, “the drawbridge 
is out and we’ll see the ships go through.” 
It was out, and they had quite a wait while 
several good-sized vessels went through to 
anchor in the careenage. 

The careenage, called “car-naj,” is always 
a place of wonder and delight to children. 
An arm of the great salt ocean, it really is, 
winding like a river into the town. From 
almost her first lessons, Judith had looked up 
from her books at the school-room window, 
to gaze across to the old square tower of the 
cathedral with the palm branches waving 


Judith 


i? 


around it, and to wonder that the masts of 
great ships seemed to rise close by the tower 
among the palms. Later, on Sundays she 
went to church at the old cathedral, and sat in 
the family pew, watching the song birds fly in 
and out of the open chancel windows, and 
over the heads of the choristers. Daddy had 
then explained to her how the bridge opened 
to let these great ships through, so that their 
masts really did rise in the town as they lay at 
anchor in the careenage, to unload provisions 
from great northern countries, and to load 
again with hogsheads of sugar to take back to 
England, Canada, and the United States. 

Finally the bridge swung to again, and they 
started merrily on their way, through Bishop’s 
Court, with the bearded fig-trees from which 
Barbados is supposed to have received its 
name, for the Portuguese sailors, who first dis- 
covered it, found the Island covered with 
these great trees, with long, beard-like roots 
hanging from the branches, and so called the 
Island Barbados or Barbudus, meaning 
bearded. Past Government House with its 
beautiful grounds they went, around the Sa- 
vannah, where they stopped to watch a game of 
Polo, then out into the open country. 

Green fields of sugar cane, looking very 


i6i Our Little West Indian Cousin 


much like our northern cornfields, stretched 
upon each side of the white road, which was 
bordered often with hedges of many-colored 
hibiscus flowers, — big blossoms of crimson, 
rose pink and yellow. Stately avenues of royal 
palms led to comfortable estate houses and 
picturesque windmills, their wonderful sails 
turning lazily in the breeze. Great trees 
shaded the way, — giant ceibas, or silk cotton 
trees, so called from the cotton-like material 
of the seed pods, a cotton which can be used 
to fill beds or pillows, but can never be spun in- 
to thread, known to us as kapok; mango trees 
bearing delicious oval fruit, very juicy, with 
thin greenish yellow or reddish skin, and 
large, flat seeds; tamarinds, and almond trees, 
which bear an oily eatable seed, in an almond- 
like husk, but are not at all like the almonds 
we know. 

Sometimes they drove through tiny villages 
of negro cabins, and once they crossed a little 
stream, where washer-women with turned up 
skirts stood ankle deep in the water, soaping 
and beating the clothes upon rocks, then 
sunning and drying them on nearby bushes. 

Judith and Damaris chattered away on the 
back seat like two little magpies, until the car 
turned out toward the coast. 



“washer-women with turned-up skirts stood 

ANKLE-DEEP IN THE WATER.” 










































































Judith 17 

“Are we going to Lord’6 Castle, Daddy?” 
Judith asked. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Craig. “Mother thinks 
the Dalkeiths are there for a holiday, and if 
so, we will surprise them.” 

“Oh, I hope they are,” cried both little 
girls, for Lord’s Castle was an enchanting place 
to visit. 

It is not a castle really, but a fine old 
mansion set in a grove of cocoanut trees. Its 
great rooms are rich in carving and orna- 
mentation, and on its polished floors many a 
stately minuet has been danced by ladies and 
gentlemen in powdered wigs and queues. 

The first owner, it is said, hung lanterns in 
these self-same cocoanut trees, in order to 
wreck passing vessels upon the rocky coast. 
No one knows if the story be true or not, but 
every one does know there is no wicked old 
pirate living there now, and that it is a most 
delightful place to spend a holiday. 

The house was open, and half a dozen 
children followed by several ladies and gentle- 
men came out to welcome the visitors. 

“You are just in time for tea,” said Mrs. 
Dalkeith, leading the way into the drawing- 
room. The little girls were famished after 
their drive, and as a special treat, were 


18 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

allowed cups of very weak tea, with the de- 
licious hot scones, jam and plum cake. 

“Let’s go down on the beach and hunt for 
puppy eyes,” said Muriel Dalkeith, when they 
had finished the good things. 

“Show us the dungeon first, do,” Damaris 
begged. 

Muriel led the way into a dark back passage 
and down a flight of stairs, where they looked 
through a tiny grated window into a stuffy 
little cellar. The old pirate, it is said, kept 
as prisoners here, the crew and captains of 
the wrecked vessels, but between you and me, 
I do not believe that anything but big hogs- 
heads of crystal sugar or golden molasses were 
ever imprisoned here. 

The little girls really thought so too, but they 
pretended to shiver and be frightened, and ran 
pell mell upstairs and out through the cocoanut 
grove to the wide lovely beach, where they 
began searching for the little pink shells called 
“puppy eyes.” 

“I’ve found two exactly alike,” Damaris 
cried, “I wish I could find a third to give 
mother in a three-leaved clover pin.” 

“You may have mine,” Muriel said, “see, it 
really does match yours, and I can find lots 
more while we’re here,” 


Judith 


19 

“Come on and have a game of cricket down 
on the hard sand,” called Don and Jamie Dal- 
keith, wearied by such tame diversions. “We’ll 
play you lefthanded.” 

Nothing loath, the girls raced after them; 
but all too soon they heard Mr. Craig calling 
and knew it was time to start for home, and 
after many good-bys and promises of a longer 
visit, they were soon running smoothly along 
the country roads again toward town. 

“I see Christ Church lighthouse,” Damaris 
said, as a turn in the road brought them in 
sight of its far-reaching light, and very shortly 
they were traveling under the brilliant stars, 
for night comes suddenly in the tropics. 

“Mother, I do think the little cabins with 
the lighted coal-pots beside the doors, and the 
little children all standing round watching 
their Mammies cooking the supper, is the pret- 
tiest sight,” Judith said. 

“So do I dear,” her mother answered, and 
Mr. Craig ran the car slowly so that they 
might watch this little scene. 

It was a pretty sight. All day these black 
women had been working beside their husbands 
in the fields, or standing midway in some tiny 
stream washing clothes. Now they had come 
home, set going the coal-pots outside the cabin 


20 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

doors — quaint, upright little iron stands 
with a grate for the coals — and were busily 
frying fish, with perhaps a yam or sweet pota- 
toes for the evening meal, while the children 
hovered around, their little black faces shining 
with expectation in the flickering light of the 
fire. 


CHAPTER II 


THE HOLIDAYS 

“Hurrah !” cried Judith, coming into the 
school-room the following Thursday, hot and 
dusty and tired, and flinging her strap of school 
books in the far corner of the lounge, where, 
fortunately they fell against a plump cushion. 
“Hurrah!” School is over for five glorious 
weeks, and I don’t want even to see the outside 
of a book for days and days and days!” and 
her hat followed the books. 

“Mother, aren’t we going in the morning 
train?” 

“No dear,” Mrs. Craig said, picking up the 
discarded books and hat, as mothers have a 
way of doing, “Daddy cannot go with us . until 
afternoon, and you would not wish to start 
off without him, would you?” 

“Of course not,” Judith said, “and it will not 
be so long to wait after all, with no lessons to 
study.” 

It did not seem long, for there were many 
things to do before going away for a whole 
21 


22 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


month, and the next afternoon found Judith 
and her parents in the first-class coach, with 
other families of happy children, off to spend 
the holidays in pleasant places. 

Out from the town, hot in the afternoon 
sunshine, through the green cane fields to the 
coast, the train went; then for miles skirted the 
water’s edge, sometimes passing long stretches 
of white sandy beach, palm fringed, at others, 
huge rocks and bowlders, against which the 
waves broke, sending the white spray high in 
the air. 

The first stars were peeping from a tur- 
quoise sky, when they rounded the last curve. 
“There is Beachmont, dear old place!” Judith 
cried, her head far out of the window, and her 
hands waving ecstatically. 

On the bluff, fanned by the soft trade winds, 
the house stood, the white road winding past 
it leading one way up to the hills, the other, 
down to the beach. A tennis court and a 
sheltered rose garden were in front, an arrow- 
root patch with a miniature windmill, and 
fields of cane were on the land side, and beyond 
rose the green hills of Hackleton’s Cliff. 

Lights twinkled cheerily in the windows as 
if bidding every one welcome, and when black 
Clement and the stout little gray donkey had 


THe Holidays 23 

driven them up the hill, there was Cousin 
Emmie in the doorway with opened arms to 
receive them. Such a bonnie lady with pink 
cheeks and silvery hair, and a heart big enough 
for all the boys and girls who came to stay with 
her! 

“It is good to have you here with me again/’ 
she said, hugging Judith and her mother and 
beaming on Daddy, “and there is such a nice 
little girl here from Trinidad, who has been 
longing for you to come, Judith.” 

She led the way to their rooms and saw that 
they were quite comfortable, then bustled off 
to oversee dinner, for the house was filled 
with guests. 

French and Spanish people from South 
America, come to spend the hot months by this 
cool seaside, and also Scotch and English 
people from the other islands, with families of 
little children, and black mammies galore. 

At dinner, a little girl of Judith’s age, with 
pretty hazel eyes and rosy cheeks, came in with 
a lady and gentleman, and sat opposite to 
Judith, smiling shyly at her across the fruit 
and flowers. 

“She must be the little girl from Trinidad,” 
Judith thought, and felt quite sure that she 
would like her. 


24 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

After dinner was over, they soon made 
friends, and chattered away as if they had 
known each other always. Kitty Gordon lived 
in the neighboring Island of Trinidad, which 
lies further South than Barbados, very near to 
the coast of South America. It is a much 
larger island than Barbados, very mountain- 
ous and has great tropical forests. It is the 
last of the Caribbean Chain, about which I 
told you when first we began our journey South- 
ward. 

“We live on a cocoa estate,” Kitty said, 
“high up in the hills, where it is lovely and cool, 
and not at all like the town, Port of Spain, 
which is always so hot. Sometimes mother 
brings us to town, and we drive a long way 
over the mountains and cross ever so many 
bridges, then come the rest of way by train. 
It’s fun to see the shops and the people all 
about, but we are always so glad to go home 
again, up into the cool hills. There are high 
mountains and forests where we live, and 
Daddy takes us riding in the early morning, 
and there are so many of us that we are never 
lonely. We used to have a governess, but she 
was married last year, and now mother gives 
us our lessons every day. She makes things 
awfully interesting, and tells us stories about 


The Holidays 25 

history, which makes it easier to remember. 
In two more years though, I am to go to live 
with Grandmama in England, and go to school 
there.” 

Judith discovered, as the days went by, that 
Kitty could talk with the French and Spanish 
children in their own languages, which was 
natural after all, for many foreigners live in 
Trinidad. Sometimes she sent them all into 
gales of laughter, by speaking like the coolies, 
for these East Indians do the work upon the 
sugar, coffee, and cocoa estates of Trinidad, 
and Kitty heard them daily in her own home. 

The next morning, Judith awakened to the 
sound of the breakers down on the beach, and 
jumping out of bed, ran to the window. It 
was all just as she remembered it a year ago. 
It was only five o’clock, but the early morning 
is the most beautiful part of the whole day in 
the tropics. The sun was rising, round and 
golden, out of the sea. The green cane fields 
rippled like the waves of the ocean in the morn- 
ing breeze, while the tops of the cocoanut trees 
looked as if they were all blowing out to sea. 

Great horned oxen were being led into the 
mill yard of a neighboring estate, to be yoked 
to cane-carts for the day’s work. From the 
cabin doors everywhere little black children 


26 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

tumbled out to sprawl happily on the soft turf, 
while down on the beach the flying-fish fleet 
were putting off for the day’s haul. The fisher- 
men looked like bronze giants, so finely built 
and so powerful were they, from their daily 
life on the sea. 

Judith watched the boats cresting the waves, 
knowing that in the early afternoon, if she 
looked, she would see them returning, with 
white sails dotting the horizon. Cook would 
go down upon the beach to buy the red snapper 
for dinner, the dolphin and flying-fish for to- 
morrow’s breakfast. 

“Are you ready for the first dip, dear?” 
-Mrs. Craig said, coming into the room with 
the bathing suits on her arm. 

“Oh, yes Mother, I have been watching 
the boats put off, and hoping you would waken 
so we could go in soon,” Judith answered. “I 
hope Kitty will come too,” she added. 

But Kitty was there before them, and with 
her, Boy and Dorothy, Janet and the twins 
— Geoffrey and Gerrold, all in the care of 
Nurse. 

How cunning the babies were, and what fun 
they all had, splashing about in the pool, — a 
safe spot among the rocks, — Judith and Kitty 


The Holidays 27 

trying valiantly to swim with water-wings, 
while Boy, who was two years younger, and a 
perfect fish in the water, watched them with 
pitying looks. 

After the late breakfast, Kitty drove off 
with her parents to visit some friends up in 
the country, and as it was too hot now to be out 
of doors, Judith wandered along the flagged 
passage leading to the kitchen and buttery, in 
search of Cousin Emmie, stopping for a mo- 
ment at the back door, to watch the arms of 
the arrowroot mill, turning steadily in the 
breeze. 

The root of the arrowroot plant, ground 
very fine and carefully dried in the sun, yields 
a starchy food, very much like cornstarch, but 
when made into blanc mange or puddings it is 
even more delicate. It is said that the Indians 
of South America used a plant similar to this 
as an antidote for poisoned arrows, and for 
this reason it came to be called “arrowroot.” 

On the buttery table were heaps of fresh 
guavas, and Judith guessed what they were for. 

“Oh, are you boiling jelly?” she asked. 
“May I stay and help?” 

“Indeed you may, darling,” Cousin Emmie 
said. “You may sit right here at the table and 


28 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


help me peel the guavas. Most of them are 
for jelly, but we will quarter a few, for 
preserves.” 

Judith worked away like a little Trojan, 
while Cousin Emmie bustled back and forth, 
from the table to the open door, where Cle- 
ment had lighted a coal-pot. In the big stone 
kitchen was an American cooking stove, but no 
stove that was ever built can boil guava jelly, 
or orange and shaddock marmalade, or pre- 
serve limes, as a coal-pot can. 

As they worked, they were often interrupted 
by the small “sellers” who came to the buttery 
window, amusing Judit-h very much. 

A little black head would appear above the 
sill, and a calabash, with a few okras, or two 
or three eggs, or some figs (little bananas) 
would be offered with, “Ma begs yu buy dese, 
Miss Emmie,” and Miss Emmie would leave 
her boiling jelly for a moment, and buy, for she 
was a good friend to the black people about her. 

A calabash is the hard shell of the gourd- 
like fruit of the calabash tree. This hard 
outer shell is made by the natives into all kinds 
of cups and bowls, which can hold water or 
solids. Sometimes, also, they are beautifully 
carved and polished, 


The Holidays 29 

After the jelly had boiled and been skimmed 
again and again, until it was of just the right 
clearness to pour into the little glass pots, and 
Judith was eating some of the hot preserved 
guavas, with freshly baked cookies, Cousin 
Emmie unlocked the door of one of the lar- 
ders, and lifted out a great covered bowl, which 
emitted a delicious spicy odor when it was un- 
covered. It was filled with chopped fruit, — 
raisins, prunes, citron, orange peel, almonds, 
black current jam, prune wine, liqueurs and 
cordials, which had been prepared and put to 
soak in more wine, several weeks before. 

“A wedding cake !” Judith cried, forgetting 
her hot guava and cookies. “Are you going 
to mix it now?” 

“This very day,” said Cousin Emmie, “for 
Aunt Blanche’s wedding.” 

“But she isn’t to be married so soon, and it 
will not be fresh, will it?” Judith asked in sur- 
prise. 

“Yes indeed,” Cousin Emmie assured her. 
“Eruit cake is always better after it has been 
made for a time. It grows richer and more 
moist every day, but we will not ice it until a 
few days before the wedding.” 

The making of the wedding cake was much 


30 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

more fascinating to watch than boiling jelly, 
and Judith was overjoyed when she was 
allowed to beat the eggs in a big yellow bowl, 
— not with a fancy egg-beater, nor even with 
a fork, but with little sprays of a dried s^ea- 
plant, called “sea-rods,” tied into a bunch; and 
how they beat and whip the eggs for the light- 
est sponge cake ever baked! 

There were pounds and pounds of the fruit 
cake, and it took many hands to mix it; then 
cook carried it away to the kitchen, and all 
further responsibility rested with her, for the 
baking of these great cakes is truly an art. 
In this island, the mistress of the house makes 
all the cakes and tarts and puddings, the muf- 
fins and scones, but only cook knows how to 
bake them. 

What happy days followed, filled with the 
companionship of Kitty and the other children 
and the joys of the seaside !' The early morn- 
ing always found them splashing about in the 
pool, or frolicking among the breakers. Then 
came walks before breakfast, across the pas- 
ture-lands, where they met droves of the gentle 
great horned oxen, being driven to the mill 
yards, or driven over the hills and into the 
sea, for their weekly hath. The children 
loved to watch these patient beasts flounder 


The Holidays 3 1 

about, then return to sun themselves and 
browse upon the hill®. 

During the heat of the day, they read and 
played in the cool galleries; then after four 
o’clock tea, there were long walks upon the 
beach where they found wonderful shells — 
great conchs, rose-lined, bits of coral, giant 
star-fish, Turks’ caps, sea-urchins, the beauti- 
ful pearly nautilus; bleeding tooth, and many 
others — and as the “bay houses,” as the sea- 
side cottages are called, were all occupied for 
the holidays, they found many playmates 
too, upon the sands. 

Sometimes they were allowed to join riding- 
parties of the older people, and on ponies bor- 
rowed from neighboring estates, Kitty and Boy 
and Judith had glorious canters on the firm 
sand at the water’s edge, or on the country 
roads winding up to the level stretch above 
Hackleton’s Cliff. 

One afternoon Mr. Craig took the two little 
girls across country to the western coast, to a 
place called “The Hole,” or “Hole Town,”— 
not a very pretty name, but you will hear why 
it was called so. 

“Daddy,” Judith said, as they climbed out 
of the car to look at a tall monument nearby, 
“Kitty thinks ‘The Hole’ such a funny name 


32 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

for a town. Please tell her the story about it, 
for you can explain it so much better than I 
can.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Craig, “it is odd, but it 
was given this name more than three hundred 
years ago, by the first English people who ever 
landed here. 

“The Island was known to Portuguese mar- 
iners sailing to and from Brazil in the sixteenth 
century, and by them given the name ‘Las 
Barbadas,’ but none ever remained here. In 
the year 1605, an English ship, the Olive 
Blossom , bound for South America, touched 
at Barbados at this very spot, and finding the 
island unoccupied by any European people, 
took possession of it in the name of James I 
of England. 

“They erected a cross on the shore, and cut 
into the bark of a tree the words ‘James, K. of 
E. and this Island.’ 

“‘The Hole/ means a deep basin, and it 
is thought the locality reminded the English 
sailors of a similar place called ‘The Hole,’ on 
the river Thames, in England. 

“It was not until 1627, however, that the 
first settlers arrived in a vessel fitted out by 
Sir William Courteen, having on board forty 
white men and eight negroes. After landing 


The Holidays 


33 


his people, the captain sailed away to Guiana, 
where he obtained seeds and roots and plants 
cf yams, Indian corn, sweet potatoes, plantains, 
tamarinds, oranges, limes, pineapples', tobacco, 
cotton, and, best of all, the sugar cane, which 
has supported the island for many years. 
This monument was erected in 1905, to com- 
memorate the three hundredth anniversary of 
the arrival of the Olive Blossom.” 

“And Barbados has never been anything 
but English and never will be,” said Judith, 
who was a loyal little Briton. 

A few days later, on a beautiful cool morn- 
ing, a picnic was arranged for Turner’s Hall 
Wood, and every one went, even Cousin 
Emmie, taking old Holder, the butler, with 
several capacious luncheon baskets. 

Judith was delighted, for she had never been 
there, but she knew that it was the one bit of 
tropical forest left standing in this island of 
sugar cane. 

The party started merrily off in the train, 
and after a half-hour’s ride, alighted at a little 
station, where, waiting to carry them up into 
the hills, were wooden cane carts, each drawn 
by six or eight mules. What fun they had! 
And how they bumped and rattled over the 
country roads in the springless carts ! 


34 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

Young black boys drove them, one riding 
bareback, the others running for miles along- 
side, flourishing great whips and calling “Che ! 
Che 1” 

Sometimes the mules came to a stop in the 
middle of a steep hill, and the whole cart and 
its occupants were in danger of rattling down 
hill backwards. But the drivers would scotch 
the wheels with great stones and cry “Che ! 
Che !” again and again, and finally start the 
mules on their way. 

Once they passed a beautiful old house with 
an avenue of stately royal palms. 

“That is Farley Hill,” Mrs. Craig told the 
children, “the home of Charles Kingsley’s 
mother. You have all read his story of the 
‘Water Babies,’ and some of you his ‘Heroes,’ 
too. When he was a little fellow, he loved 
to hear the stories his mother told of her home 
in the West Indies, and among his playthings in 
the Devonshire Vicarage, were some of her 
childish treasures. 

“All his life he wished to come to these 
tropical islands, but he had to wait until he was 
fifty years old, and then he brought his daugh- 
ter Rose, with him.” 

“I know, he came to Trinidad,” said 
Kitty. “Mother told us about his visit when 


The Holidays 35 

she was reading the ‘Water Babies’ to us.” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Craig said, “he stayed there 
with his daughter for several winter months, 
and wrote a very wonderful book about it, 
which you will all read some day. 

“The ship stopped first at the Island of St. 
Thomas, and he tells how he found there ‘old 
friends’ of his childhood, treasures of his 
mother’s cabinet — wonderful shells, bits of 
coral, the calabash tree, with the green cala- 
bashes growing out of its bark, and the won- 
derful sandbox, which you too, love.” 

The sandbox is the seed pod of the sand- 
box tree. It is the size and shape of a small 
tomato, but with many small divisions. When 
fully ripe it explodes with a loud noise, scat- 
tering the seeds far and wide, and the natives 
call it the “Monkeys’ dinner-bell.” 

Soon they mounted the last hill, and saw the 
green wall of the forest before them. Giant 
palms lifted their fronds high in the air, and 
among masses of green of every shade and hue 
were flashes of color as brilliant as a parrot’s 
wing. 

But nothing outside could prepare Judith 
for the exceeding loveliness of the forest it- 
self. The ground beneath their feet was a 
mass of tropical bloom, and hundreds of varie- 


36 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

ties of ferns reached almost to the waists of 
the children, — among them maidenhair, and 
la Farlienca, like the maidenhair, but larger 
and more beautiful. There were many kinds 
of palms, royal palms, cocoanut palms, which 
bear the cocoanut, date palms, whose fruit we 
all know so well; sago palms, which supply 
us with isago, — something like tapioca; fan 
palms, from which the palm leaf fans are 
mad,e; the travelers’ trees whose stalks are 
reservoirs of water; almonds, and eucalyptus 
trees, which furnish a valuable medicine; wild 
oranges, wild begonias, wild pines; and here, 
in their native home, orchids of marvelous 
shape and color, festooning themselves from 
tree to tree. 

The forest was so dense that it was almost 
twilight, and Judith believed that all the fairy 
stories she had ever heard or dreamed, had 
come true. She could not move for fear of 
crushing the wonderful flowers and ferns, and 
looking up through the giant branches, she 
could dimly see the tropic blue of the sky, and 
the sunshine filtering through the green. 

You will wonder that she was not afraid of 
snakes in this tropical forest, but she had no 
fear, for she knew that there were no deadly 
reptiles in the Island. The terrible “fer de 


The Holidays 37 

lance” and the poisonous snakes of other 
islands have never been found here. 

“Oh Kitty!” she cried. “Have you ever 
seen anything so like fairyland?” 

But Kitty had seen the vast tropical forests 
of Trinidad, though she was much too polite 
and well bred a little girl to say so, and admired 
everything that Judith pointed out. 

They camped for luncheon beside a tiny 
bubbling spring called the “Boiling Spring,” 
which is the one bit of volcanic evidence in this 
coral Island. Mr. Craig lighted a match and 
held to it, and instantly a flickering flame of 
great heat shot up. Next, an egg was put to 
boil, and the children gazed open eyed at this 
marvel of nature. 

Suddenly, above the laughing voices, a per- 
fect torrent of shrill chattering was heard. 
“Monkeys!” Judith cried, peering all about. 

“Wild monkeys, who have never been 
caught,” said Mr. Craig, “but live happily 
here in their native trees.” 

Boy and Kitty tried to coax some of them 
down with pieces of cake and fruit, but they 
were much too wild, and waited until the for- 
est was quiet again, before they clambered 
down to eat up the goodies left. 

“Now,” said Mr. Craig, when the heat of 


38 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

the day had been spent in the deep cool shade 
of the forest, and they were gathering up the 
luncheon things and making ready for the jour- 
ney home in the cane carts. “Now you know 
what this Island was like in 1605 when the 
Olive Blossom sighted land. 

“There are only forty-six acres left stand- 
ing now; but then, in place of fields of sugar 
cane, the whole Island was like this bit of vir- 
gin forest.” 

“Why is the whole Island planted in sugar 
cane, Daddy?” Judith asked. “Why did they 
cut away so much of the beautiful forest?” 

“Because,” Mr. Craig answered, “when 
sugar cane was first brought to the Western 
Hemisphere, it was planted in a great many 
places to see where it would grow best, and in 
this little Island of Barbados it grew so well 
that the early colonists quickly cleared the land 
of the Virgin forest, and planted the sugar cane 
everywhere, which yielded the planters such 
good crops that the Island became very pros- 
perous and the planters wealthy. 

“Clearing away the dense tropical forests 
has made the Island also a much healthier 
place. It has freed it from fevers and trop- 
ical diseases that other Islands still have, and 


39 


The Holidays 

that is why Kitty has come here for her holi- 
days; because, although we have not as beau- 
tiful an Island as Trinidad, we have a more 
healthful one.” 

“Then I will forgive them,” Judith said, 
“if it will always bring Kitty here for the 
holidays.” 


CHAPTER III 


THE HOLIDAYS AT NICHOLAS ABBEY 

“Here comes the carriage,” Kitty said, as 
one morning a few days after the picnic in the 
tropical woods, the two little girls stood watch- 
ing at the gallery window. “Oh Judy, I wish 
you were coming back to Trinidad with me to- 
morrow; I shall just miss you dreadfully.” 

“I shall miss you too,” Judith answered, 
squeezing Kitty’s hand, “and I wish that you 
were coming to Nicholas Abbey with Damaris 
and me, and then home to Galba Lodge; but 
we are going to visit each other, and that’s a 
comfort. Daddy says that next year he will 
have to go to Trinidad on business, and he will 
take mother and me with him., Just think, 
Kitty, I have never been away from Barbados 
in my life! Mother is sure that you will be 
allowed to come home with us for a visit — and 
won’t we have a good time!” 

Mr. Thorpe could not come himself for his 
two little guests, but sent the big two-seated 
carriage to Beachmont for them, with Ivy and 
40 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 4! 

Nick to do the honors, and there, sitting on 
the back seat with them was Damaris. 

“Judy,” she cried, jumping out and hugging 
Judith, “Cousin Tom came to town yesterday 
and told father he would pick me up on his 
way home, instead of my coming so far by 
train to-day. Mother and I had such a 
scramble to be ready, for my things were not 
packed; but it was great fun driving all the 
way from the St. Lawrence. We did not get 
to Nicholas until nine o’clock, and the girls 
were asleep. Cousin Bessie told me to slip in 
beside Isobel, but they all waked up and 
thought I was a robber and screamed ‘Daddy, 
Daddy!’” 

“Yes, and Cousin Damaris thought there 
must be a forty-leg around, and began to yell 
too and father and I rushed in and found the 
girls all hopping about like mad,” said Nick, 
grinning cheerfully at the recollection of the 
terrified maidens. 

The forty-leg is a huge poisonous centipede, 
about nine inches in length, with a very hard 
back, and it really looks like a tooth brush 
handle with legs all about it. Its bite has 
never caused death, but it does cause a painful 
swelling, and it is no wonder that Damaris was 
frightened. Forty-legs seldom get into houses, 


42 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

though, unless some old tree- in which they have 
had a nest has been cut down; then they may 
roam about hunting new quarters. 

Judith and her packall were tucked safely 
in the carriage, mother and Daddy bidden 
good-by for a whole week, and with a crack 
of old Quentin’s whip, off went the big bays 
with four happy children. 

Up hill and down dale they drove, through 
the little village of St. Elizabeth’s, or “Crab 
Hole” as it was familiarly called, where many 
of the negro cabins were almost hidden by the 
scarlet blossoms and green leaves of the poin- 
settia plants, the same beautiful flowers that we 
find in the northern shops at Christmas time, 
and for which we pay such fabulous prices. 

Some of the cabins, too, were shaded by 
breadfruit trees, and the people who lived there 
were lucky indeed, for one breadfruit pro- 
vides almost a meal. The tree grows very 
large, with great beautiful green leaves*, and 
the breadfruit, which is not a fruit at all, but 
a vegetable, looks like a great green ball, and 
when the rough, outer skin is peeled off, the 
inside, roasted, or boiled and crushed, is very 
good indeed to eat. 

There were papaw trees growing by the 
roadside too, small, branchless trees, with a 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 43 

flat crown of leaves at the top, just beneath 
which grow clusters of large, melon-shaped 
fruit, salmon pink or yellow in color. This 
fruit is delicious preserved, and delicious also 
when iced and eaten raw; but the leaves are 
the wonderful part of this “magic tree,” for 
when rubbed on the toughest meat they will 
make it tender. 

Then up the steep hills they climbed again, 
and saw, growing among the tropical shrubs 
and plants that lined the banks, clumps of real 
Scotch heath, with little crimson bell-like 
blossoms. 

St. Nicholas Abbey, the home of Tom and 
Nick, Ivy, Iris and Isobel, is one of the old- 
est and loveliest estates in Barbados. It is 
built in the style of an old English Abbey, with 
a fireplace in the cedar paneled drawing-room, 
built by the first owner for the winter that 
never came. 

The garden is filled with beautiful tropical 
flowers, the grounds with tropical trees of 
which I have told you — royal palms, ceibas, 
or silk cotton trees, almond, poinciana, cocoa- 
nuts, and others which are new to you. Here 
grows the cashew tree, a pretty low tree with 
rounded leaves, and little green flowers, bear- 
ing pink and white striped pear-shaped fruit, at 


44 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

the lower end of which hang small kidney- 
shaped beans called cashew nuts, which are 
very good to cat when roasted, and from which 
a very valuable* medicine is extracted; the can- 
non-ball tree, a great wonderful tree, bearing 
large crimson flowers, and later the cannon- 
balls, which are large and rough and brown, and 
look like real cannon-balls. 

There are many banana trees too, whose 
fruit you know so well, but not, perhaps, the 
way it grows. 

The banana tree is not really a tree, but is 
herbaceous, which means that it does not be- 
come woody, or permanent, but that the stem 
dies down to the root to shoot again into a 
new tree. The stem of the banana tree is 
formed by the long leaf stems folding together 
until they reach a heighth of fifteen or twenty 
feet from the ground, when each stem unfolds 
into one great beautiful leaf, long and broad. 
The banana blossom which rises from the cen- 
ter, is a most glorious blossom, for it shoots up 
sometimes three feet in length, formed of great 
red-purple petals folding closely together. If 
you were to turn back these petals, you would 
find inside, a straight green spike with little 
circling clusters of creamy blossoms.. As the 
bananas form from these clusters their weight 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 45 

is so heavy that this beautiful red-purple blos- 
som begins to bend over, and by the time the 
bananas are ready to cut, the great bunch is 
hanging down from the tree and the bananas 
appear to be growing upside down. Each ba- 
nana tree bears only once, and only one bunch 
of bananas; the tree is then cut down to shoot 
again almost immediately, to form another 
tree. 

Out of the brilliant sunshine of the tropical 
morning, the carriage rolled under the shade of 
the old mahogany trees which bordered the 
drive to the doorway, where Mrs. Thorpe and 
the others came to welcome them. 

“There is Cousin Tom,” Damaris cried, 
waving her hand to a stout, jolly gentleman in 
a white helmet hat, who came cantering up 
from the opposite direction. Mr. Thorpe was 
returning from his morning ride over the 
estate, and dismounting, he tossed the reins to 
the black groom, and hastened to lift the little 
girls from the carriage, while Iris and Isobel 
danced about them and everybody talked at the 
same moment. 

“Come,” said Mrs. Thorpe laughing, “what 
chatterboxes you are! Don’t try to tell them 
everything now — Iris, they will be here a whole 
week.” 


46 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

Cousin Bessie was a lovely person to visit, 
for she always seemed like the big sister of her 
five boys and girls; putting an arm around Ju- 
dith and Damaris, she took them to a pretty 
bedroom next her own. 

“Mother, isn’t breakfast ready?” called 
Nick, who was always starving; as the bell 
rang just at that moment, the whole family 
gathered around the table laden with good 
things. 

Young Tom, the big brother of the family, 
was home for the holidays. He was studying 
hard at Harrison’s College, trying for a 
scholarship which would take him to one of the 
great English Universities, Oxford or Cam- 
bridge. 

Nick was entirely taken up with having as 
good a time as possible every day of his life, 
and believed most study to be quite unneces- 
sary. 

Ivy, Iris and Isobel, the three little girls of 
the family were all very near to Judith and 
Damaris in age, and had much fun when they 
were together. 

“Children, would you like to go down to 
the mill and the boiling house?” Mrs. Thorpe 
asked, when breakfast was over. “You may 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 47 

tell Lambert to send some sling to the house,” 
she added, knowing how much the children 
would love this treat. 

Sling is the very last stage of the juice of 
the cane before it becomes sugar, and is more 
delicious than any sirup or molasses you have 
ever tasted. 

They ran happily off to the mill yard, which 
was not very far from the “great house,” as 
the owner’s residence is called. 

The mill yard was a busy place. Cane carts 
drawn by oxen or mules were coming and go- 
ing, some piled high with newly cut canes, 
others returning to the fields to bring fresh 
loads, the black drivers all shouting and crack- 
ing great whips. 

It was not even the beginning of the real 
crop season, for only a few of the canes were 
ripe for cutting, but the boiling house seemed 
just as busy and fascinating to Judith and Da- 
maris as when they last were there. 

The original old-fashioned windmill had 
been replaced by one of steam, and the great 
rollers crunched the canes fed to them by the 
negro laborers — both men and women. The 
process is the same with the windmill, but the 
rollers are dependent upon the wind, which 


48 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

turns the great sails and sets going the machin- 
ery inside. 

The juice of the cane — “raw liquor,” it is 
called — flows through from the rollers, into the 
first tayche, a great copper lined basin. There 
are half a dozen, or more, of these tayches, 
under which hot fires are kept going, and be- 
fore them the black laborers stand with long 
ladles skimming and tossing the boiling liquor 
from tayche to tayche. 

After raw liquor, the juice becomes cracked 
liquor; then as it gradually thickens, syrup, 
then sling, and finally sugar — the brownest, 
wettest sugar you can imagine. This is put 
in great hogsheads, which, strange to say, have 
holes bored in the bottoms. Now why — do 
you think? Judith knew and Damaris, too, for 
often before they had watched the black labor- 
ers rolling the hogsheads into a big empty 
room, to be stood on what seemed to be just the 
beginnings of a floor; they had tiptoed to the 
joists that crisscrossed the room, and peeped 
through to see the drip, drip from the hogs- 
heads into the copper lined pans beneath; and 
what do you think was dripping? Molasses! 
The very s-ame kind of molasses that the little 
causins of the North make into taffy and 
gingerbread, and the next time you eat either 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 49 

of these goodies, you can remember just what 
molasses is. 

On top of the last tayche a thin crust was 
forming. 

“Pan sugar!” cried Judith, and the black 
workman skimmed off a plateful for them. 

Pan sugar is like very thin, crisp molasses 
candy, and is a treat even to estate children. 
The first sling of the season was, too, and they 
feasted upon it for luncheon. 

In the evening, when dusk had deepened into 
the tropic night, they gathered around Cousin 
Bessie at the piano, and the old room rang with 
sweet childish voices, and the deeper tones of 
young Tom and his father. 

“Daddy’s favorites first,” said Cousin 
Bessie, and they sang “Loch Lomond,” “Annie 
Laurie,”* “Defton Woods,” and all the dear 
old ballads which every one loves. Young Tom 
preferred the “Bedouin Love Song,” and “The 
Grenadiers,” while Nick, who had no classic 
tastes, reveled in “The Cheshire Man” and 
“There was a Jolly Miller,” and the little 
girls liked everything. 

“Mother,” said Isobel, when every one’s 
favorite had been sung, “the stars are so 
bright to-night, I am sure we can find the 
Southern Cross.” 


50 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

Out in the star-lit garden, the fronds of the 
tall palm trees swaying in the soft night wind 
made sweet music of their own. 

“There’s Orion’s Belt,” said Tom. 

“I see the Big Dog and the Little Dog,” 
cried Iris. 

Then Mr. Thorpe showed them the South- 
ern Cross, in the path of the Milky Way, a 
constellation of four beautiful bright stars, so 
placed that they mark the four points of a 
cross. 

From the negro quarters came the sound of 
music. “They are dancing,” Isobel said. 
“Daddy do let us watch them.” 

Down in one of the larger cabins, lighted 
by several lamps, a dozen couples were 
dancing, while three fiddlers scraped away in 
one corner, swaying and singing an accompa- 
niment, and enjoying themselves hugely: 

“Sabe John Gill, sabe John Gill, 

Le’ de Ice House burn; 

Oh de mornin’ ob de fire 
Lawd Nelson cum down; 

He put de sodjers in a line 
An’ he blow de Ice House down. 

“Shake yo’ right foot, shake yo’ lef’ foot, 

Le’ de right foot stan’; 

Shake yo lef’ fobt, shake yo’ right foot, 



"watching a small black boy shinny up a 

COCOANUT TREE." 
































■ 
































• 







* - 

. 












Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 51 

Le’ de lef’ foot stan’. 

“Oh de Ice House in pawn 
Fo’ a ten dollar note, 

A new rockin’ chair, 

An’ a silk sofy coat.” 

“Shake yo’ right foot, shake yo’ lef’ foot, 

Le’ de right foot stan’; 

Shake yo’ left foot, shake yo’ right foot, 

Le’ de lef’ foot stan’. 

while the rest of the dancers, waiting their 
turn outside, shuffled and beat time with their 
bare feet — for shoes were not the fashion. 

The next morning the children were out in 
the garden very early, watching a small black 
boy shinny up a cocoanut tree to fetch some 
fresh cocoanuts. The cocoanut tree is a palm 
tree, you know, not straight and majestic like 
the royal palm, but with a graceful bending 
stem, at the top of which is the tuft of beau- 
tiful palm branches. 

The cocoanuts grow in one great cluster 
just beneath this crown of branches at the top 
— not like the hard, brown-shelled cocoanuts 
you are used to seeing in the north — for these 
are lovely green in color, and inside, instead of 
the firm white meat you know, is a soft white 
jelly. This fresh green husk will in time turn 


52 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

brown and dry — and, in time again, will 
come to your door, Little Cousin of the North, 
as a thick mat on which to wipe the snow from 
your shoes. 

The inside of the fresh cocoanut will 
gradually change too, the hard brown shell 
will form, and the soft jelly will become the 
firm white cocoanut meat which you eat in 
cake and candy. 

In the garden too were several cocoa or 
cacao trees. Cacao is the real name of this 
tree about which I am going to tell you, the 
tree whose fruit is made into chocolate and 
cocoa. 

First of all, we must never confuse cocoanuts 
and cocoa. Some little boys and girls be- 
lieve, and quite naturally too, that cocoa comes 
from the cocoanut tree. That is not possible. 
The cocoanuts grow always on a cocoanut 
palm tree, just as I have described them to 
you. 

The Cacao tree from which comes our 
chocolate and cocoa, never grows very tall, 
and is always planted beneath some other 
tree to give it shade. One of these shade 
trees is called “Madre del cacao” which 
means “Mother of cocoa.” The lefaves are 
large and green and hang straight down from 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 53 

the branches, and the large beautiful purple 
pods hang not only from the branches, but 
from the trunk of the tree as well. Inside of 
the purple pods, in a lining of peach-like pulp 
are hidden the cocoa beans. These beans are 
gathered and spread in great quantities to dry 
in the sun, then shipped to northern countries 
to be made into chocolate and cocoa. When 
the beans are first ground, they form a thick 
paste which is chocolate. When the oil is 
pressed out of this paste a fine powder results, 
and this is the cocoa powder which makes your 
breakfast cocoa. The rich chocolate paste 
makes the candy which you so love. 

“Who would like to go with me to the 
Animal Flower Cave?” Mr. Thorpe asked at 
breakfast, and there was a deafening chorus 
of “Me, Me, Daddy,” “I would, Cousin 
Tom.” 

“Are you sure it is quite safe to take so 
many of them, father?” Mrs. Thorpe asked. 

“I think Tom and I, with the guide can 
manage all of you,” Mr. Thorpe answered, 
and soon after breakfast they packed a 
luncheon basket and were off — Mrs. Thorpe 
and the girls in the carriage, Tom riding, 
and Nick on his own little donkey, who could 
travel as fast as anybody, if he had a mind to. 


54 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

How they all laughed when he threw Nick 
over his head, fortunately into the soft earth 
of a cane field. Nick however was quite used 
to this performance, and merely picked him- 
self up and mounted the little beast again. 
He rode the little donkey daily to school, then 
put the reins over his head, turned him to- 
ward home, and with a parting slap on his 
back, the sagacious little animal trotted 
steadily home to his own mill yard. 

Out through the long shady avenue of 
Mahogany trees the carriage rolled. Ma- 
hogany is indigenous to this Island — which 
means that it springs up anywhere and every- 
where, naturally. The trees are very lovely, 
tall and branching, and bear a large pear- 
shaped pod, closely packed with s'eed, which 
are winged, as our Northern Maples’ seeds 
arc; the soft southern wind carries them from 
place to place, planting them thickly all over 
the Island. The lovely mahogany wood you 
all know well. In Barbados there are many 
native cabinet-makers and wood-carvers, who 
make fine and beautiful furniture out of the 
wood. 

Coming out of the shady avenue into the 
bright sunshine, they drove past field after 
field of sugar cane, where the black laborers, 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 55 

men and women, were at work*. I have told 
you that the sugar cane fields look somewhat 
like our northern cornfields; the cane, how- 
ever, has a jointed stalk, like bamboo, and 
when ripe, a beautiful arrow-shaped plume 
rises from each plant. A field of these “cane 
arrows” is very beautiful. 

The sugar cane is usually planted about 
December and cut the following December, 
taking a year to fully ripen. In some parts 
of the Island, however, it is planted earlier, 
because of a difference in the soil. 

The real crop season begins about January 
and lasts until April or May. Think of it, 
Little Cousins of the North! When you are 
playing with sleds and skates and snowmen, 
the West Indian Cousins are sucking ripe 
sugar cane, eating sling and pan sugar, seeing 
the sugar and molasses barreled to come 
north for your winter goodies, bathing in the 
tropic ocean, and picking roses from a tropic 
garden, and yet they keep Christmas just as 
we do, and have glorious times as you shall 
hear. 

On they drove, until they came to a stretch 
of waste land, where nothing grew but cactus 
plants, among the rocks. The blue sea was 
before them now, and they went on foo*t to 


56 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

the edge of the cliff, which overhung the 
water a hundred feet below. 

“All right Hackett?” Mr. Thorpe called 
to the colored guide who appeared. 

“Quite safe, Massa,” the man answered. 

A narrow path at the edge of the cliff led 
down to the caves and when Mr. Thorpe and 
the guide had taken them carefully down, 
they entered the first one. In the middle of 
the floor in a pool o*f water were delicate sea- 
anemones. 

The second cave was more wonderful, and 
when Mrs. Thorpe and the children had been 
carried across the water to it they exclaimed 
with delight, for here in a deeper pool, were 
myriads of the delicate anemones of every 
shade and color, making the surface of the 
water look like the most beautiful Persian 
carpet. 

“Couldn’t we pick just one of them, Cousin 
Tom, to take home?” Damaris asked. 

“No,” Mr. Thorpe said, “and I will show 
you why we cannot pick them.” 

He took a stick from the guide, and gently 
touched the nearest blossom. Instantly it 
closed its petals. 

“You see,” he said, “like the sensitive plant, 
they will not bear touching. These sea- 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 57 

anemones are not vegetable, but belong to the 
animal kingdom.” 

The children thought they were more won- 
derful than ever, and begged to see the third 
cave; but the guide shook his head. “Not 
safe,” he said, “tide coming in now, mus’ go 
back,” and immediately Mr. Thorpe and Tom 
helped him carry the others over the pools to 
the entrance, and up the narrow path again to 
the cliff. Ten minutes later, as they were 
unpacking the luncheon basket, they heard the 
sea thundering beneath them, and knew that 
the guide was right, for the caves were filled 
with water. 

“Daddy,” said Isobel in her most wheedle- 
some manner, as they sat eating sandwiches, 
fruit and cake, “don’t you think we might 
stop at the Potteries on our way home?” 

Mr. Thorpe laughed, “you mean will 
Daddy take you several miles out of the way 
to see the Potteries? Shall we take them 
Bessie?” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Thorpe said, “we have not 
been there for a long time, and I would really 
like to have some new flower pots.” 

Off they started again, up into the hills, 
until they came at length to a village where 
f-amilies of little brown babies sprawled in the 


58 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

sunshine before the cabin doors, apparently 
taking care of themselves. The children 
wondered where their Mammies might be, un- 
til they saw a group of women gathered at the 
door of one of the cabins. 

“They are watching the Potter,” Mrs. 
Thorpe said, as they got out of the carriage to 
watch him too. 

There he stood at his potter’s wheel, a 
white-haired old colored man, deftly shaping 
vases and flower pots and other quaint shapes, 
from the lump of soft native clay in the 
middle of the swiftly turning wheel. 

When several trays were filled with these 
soft clay shapes, they were carried to the 
ovens to be baked. 

“Where are the ovens?” Judith asked, 
looking all about her. 

“Right here, in the side of the hill,” said 
Nick, pointing to various little holes in the 
ground, each covered with a grating, and sure 
enough, into these went the soft molds, to 
come out quite hard and ready for use. 

Mr. Thorpe bought a dozen of the flower 
pots, and each of the little girls had a cup and 
saucer or a vase, or a tiny coal-pot to take 
home; and often afterward, when Judith and 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 59 

Damaris saw the pottery sellers in town, with 
the trays of wares upon their heads, they 
wondered if they were not the very same jugs 
and pots which they had seen molded and 
baked. 

One morning Mrs. Thorpe came out to the 
garden where the little girls were playing, 
holding a note in her hand. 

“Would you like to go to a real party?” 
she asked. 

“Oh mother !” “When? Where?” cried 
her own three in a breath. 

“To-night at Fraeser’s,” she answered. 
“Mrs. Yearwood writes to say that Henry 
arrived yesterday by the Royal Mail from 
England, and they are getting up a dance for 
to-night. She wants Tom, of course, and 
although you are all much too young, and 
Nick too, she said to bring you, as you would 
be company for Holly and Louise.” 

There was much joyful preparation for the 
rest of the day. The little girls were quite 
as excited as if the party had been given for 
them, and white dresses, silk sashes, dainty 
slippers and hair ribbons were spread about, 
and dancing steps much practiced. 

Evening came at last, and every one was 


6o Our Little West Indian Cousin 


ready. Cousin Bessie looked more than ever 
like the children’s big sister, in her pretty lace 
evening dress, with roses in her hair. 

Mr. Thorpe solemnly inspected the five little 
girls, then presented each with a posy to 
match her sash. 

Tom was quite handsome in his evening 
clothes, and Nick was very miserable in his 
best suit. His collar was too high, he said, 
and his slippers pinched his feet. Every one 
laughed at him in the most heartless manner 
and the party drove merrily off. 

Fraeser’s was a charming old place several 
miles distant, the home of a happy family of 
big and little children. Henry, the eldest son 
had been for four years at college in England, 
and the dance was in honor of his return. 

To-night, the house was bright with the 
light of many candles; the floors of the great, 
rooms were waxed and polished, and pretty 
girls flitted about putting flowers everywhere. 

From far and near the guests came, and 
the old house rang with merriment, until the 
violins swung into the rhythm of the waltz, 
and the young people paired off. 

The five little girls, with Holly, Louise and 
Nick, thought it fairyland, and could scarcely 
keep their feet still, waiting for the time when 


Holidays at Nicholas Abbey 61 

young and old, big and little, would join in. 

“It must look just like this when mother 
goes to the balls at Government House,” 
Judith whispered to Damaris. 

“Even prettier, I think,’’ said Damaris, “for 
Government House is so big and lovely, and 
the officers and the governor’s aide de camp 
all wear their uniforms. Oh I wish we could 
grow up faster, Judy!” 

Just then the music swung into the lancers, 
and Damaris forgot all about growing up, for 
after that every one danced everything. Every 
one can dance in the south, you know, in the 
graceful southern way. 

Great trays of cool ices made from the juice 
of the pineapples and fresh cocoanuts were 
passed about, and finally came the grand 
march to supper, and last of all the old, old 
dance, Sir Roger de Coverly, without which 
no party would be complete. 

As they drove home in the starlight to 
Nicholas Abbey, five girlish tongues chattered 
incessantly, and Iris said, “Mother, do let us 
have a dance soon!’ 

Mrs. Thorpe laughed as she cuddled her 
small daughter in her arms. 

“Not for a long, long time dear. This is 
your first peep at a real party, and the first 


62 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


for Judith and Damaris too, I am very sure. 
There are plenty of good times now for little 
girls, and plenty of time for dances when you 
are all grown up.” 


CHAPTER IV 


SCHOOL DAYS 

The holidays were over, and Judith and 
Damaris were at home again. 

‘'‘Mother/’ Judith said, “I have had the 
most beautiful time! It was lovely at 
Beachmount with you and Daddy and Kitty, 
and we did have such fun at Nicholas Abbey, 
and Cousin Bessie said that she wanted us for 
a longer visit next time.” 

“Cousin Bessie, dear?” 

“Yes mother, she says I may always call her 
so, she likes it, — but mother, the nicest part of 
all is coming home again,” and Mrs. Craig 
hugged her one little girl very close, for that 
is what mothers like best to hear. 

There were still several days before school 
began, in which to play in the old garden, to 
feed the parrots, and the monkeys in the 
Galba trees; to coax stories from Granny; to 
watch the seamstresses at work on Aunt 
Blanche’s pretty wedding clothes; and to curl 
up in the schoolroom window seat with her 
favorite books and a pineapple tart. 

63 


64 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

To-day was the beginning of the new term, 
and Judith was up with the first peep of day- 
light, had had her cold shower and was half 
dressed before old Nurse arrived to help her. 
Her school dress was a navy blue skirt and a 
white blouse, with a broad sailor hat and a 
dark blue veil! How funny that sounds to 
the little northern cousins. All the school 
girls must wear these veils, for the tropic sun 
burns and freckles the skin so quickly, and in 
Barbados there is no clear cold winter to take 
away the tan. 

Julia brought the tea tray and fruit to her 
little Mistress’s bedroom this morning, for 
there was not time to loiter under the tamarind 
tree on the first day of school, when every one 
wished to be especially early; and hurriedly 
drinking her chocolate, Judith gathered up her 
strap of school books, ran in to tell Granny 
and mother good-by, then down stairs and 
out to the gate to watch for Damaris and the 
coming tram. 

“Hurry, Dame,” she called, as Damaris 
came out into the road, then turned back to 
pick a creamy rose for her favorite teacher. 

The trams made many stops along the palm 
shaded roads this morning, gathering up the 
girls for Queens’ College and the Convent, 


School Days 65 

the boys for Harrison College and the 
Combermere School. 

It was good to be back again, to see all 
one’s friends, and to hear bits of every one’s 
holiday fun, with the Mistresses all fresh and 
smiling too. 

Damaris adored pretty Mademoiselle de 
Gere, to whom she presented the creamy rose, 
which in truth was the exact tint of 
Mademoiselle’s white skin. 

“Ah, les belles fleurs que vous m apportez” 

(Oh; the beautiful flowers that you bring me!) 

she said, kissing Damaris upon each cheek. 

After the opening exercises, Miss Rossitor, 
the head mistress, spoke to the pupils about 
the work of the coming term, and of the special 
work for those who were going up for the 
senior and junior Cambridge examination. 
These examination papers are made up and 
sent from Cambridge University in England, 
and the girls and their teachers are very proud 
when the pupils pass. 

Soon, all were hard at work and the big 
cool shaded schoolrooms, with the girlish 
heads bent over the desks, might have been any 
school in the north, if one did not happen to 
look through the wide-opened windows, where 


66 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

the palm branches waved against a tropic sky 
and the blue sea in the distance broke gently 
on a tropic shore. 

It was not all study at Queen’s College, 
however, for the English mistresses were in 
favor of games and sports, and the girls had 
hockey teams and tennis matches, and regular 
gymmastic drills. 

One afternoon Judith came running upstairs 
quite breathless with excitement. 

“Mother, mother,” she called, “where are 
you?” 

“Here, dear, in the schoolroom,” Mrs. 
Craig answered. 

“Mother, I am captain of the Junior 
Hockey Team! I was so surprised when they 
elected me, and I will have to stay later every 
day at school, for practice. We’re going to 
play the Seniors, and we have to beat ’em ! 
And Judith picked up a convenient parasol 
and whacked at an imaginary hockey ball with 
such gusto that Granny was horrified. 

“The child is too full of life for this 
climate,” she said. 

“It will not hurt her, mother,” Mrs. Craig 
answered. “I am glad she is fond of out- 
door sports, and I believe she studies much 
more thoroughly for the recreation.,” 


























s 




















« 


























♦ 





































% 



















f 


f 













School Days 67 

One morning, Judith awakened to the 
sound of the rain beating against the jalousies. 
The palm branches were lashing in the wind and 
the scarlet blossoms of the royal poincianas 
were blowing all about the garden; and run- 
ning to the front windows, she could see the 
bay covered with white caps. 

“It is too stormy for you to go to school 
to-day, dear,” Mrs. Craig said, coming into the 
room to lower the windows. “Daddy had a 
time to get out to the tram, the wind is blowing 
so.” 

Like all little girls, Judith did not mind 
staying home from school once in a while, 
and after she was dressed she went down to 
the kitchen to see if Granny’s tea tray was 
ready, for she dearly loved to take Julia’s 
place, and surprise Granny sometimes. 

The gay parrots were all on their perches in- 
side the kitchen doorway, where Parris had 
set them out of the driving rain, and Judith 
fed them with bananas until Charlotte had 
put Granny’s tea and crisp buttered toast on 
the tray. 

“May I come, Granny?” she called, when 
she had reached Mrs. Drayton’s door without 
spilling anything. 

“Come in darling,” Granny answered, sit- 


68 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

ting up in the middle of the big mahogany 
four-poster, with her hair in two long plaits, 
just like a girl. 

Judith plumped up the pillows and fixed 
the tray comfortable, then perched on the foot 
of the bed. 

“Granny,” she said, “do you hear the 
wind?” Was it anything like this on the 
night of the big hurricane?” 

“Oh no darling, this is just a rain storm, 
but in a real hurricane the wind is frightful.” 

“Tell me about the real hurricane when you 
were a girl, do Granny,” Judith begged. 

“I never shall forget it;” Mrs. Drayton 
said, “we had finished dinner and were all 
out in the garden — we were living in the town 
then — and my sister Elizabeth looked up in the 
sky and said, ‘why how funny the clouds are ! 
They look like animals!’ They did look like 
animals, in shape, and we amused ourselves 
by picking out lions and bears, and tigers, 
joking and laughing; after awhile we came 
indoors, and my sister, Joan, who had a most 
beautiful voice, my dear, sang for us, as every 
night she sang for my father and mother. 
Then we young people danced, and no one 
thought anything more about the clouds. 

“When we went to bed the sky was black 


School Days 69 

as ink, and the wind was rising, though we 
did not really notice it then; but in the middle 
of the night we all waked in the greatest 
fright. Mother was trying to get us all to- 
gether, and to quiet the slaves who were 
screaming and praying. The sea was making 
a dreadful booming sound, great trees were 
crashing all about us, and father was hurrying 
us to the hurricane cellar. In the confusion, 
my old Mammy and I were separated from the 
others and found ourselves in the house cellar, 
and there we stood till daylight with the water 
up to our waists, and Mammy and I holding 
tightly to each other. We did not dare to 
move for fear we would be drowned, and I 
was nearly wild with fright over my parents 
and the rest of the family. 

‘‘When day came at last, we were quite numb 
with cold, and could scarcely climb the stairs 
which were so near to us, all through the 
dreadful night. The storm was over and the 
sea was quiet again, but part of the house was 
gone, great trees strewed the garden, and the 
negro cabins were blown as completely away 
as if they had been card houses, and quite 
near to the house was a schooner which had 
been carried in on the high sea the night be- 
fore. 


70 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

“I was terrified, but as we stood there, my 
father came from the hurricane cellar, my 
mother and the others following, and I rushed 
into their arms. Father had hunted for me 
through the night at great risk to his life, 
and they feared that I had been drowned or 
killed by a falling tree. We were all safe and 
happy and together again, but there were many 
people killed that night, my dear.” 

“There never has been a big hurricane since 
that one, has there?” Judith asked. 

“Never, dear, and we would be warned if 
there were ever any sign of another coming.” 

“Now tell me about the insurrection of the 
slaves when you were a baby, Granny, please. 
Your stories are so real, they make me feel 
as if I were there too.” 

“Once upon a time,” Granny began, in true 
story fashion, for who does not love an 
appreciative listener. “Once upon a time, 
a young bride came out from England with her 
husband, to live in Barbados. She was only 
seventeen, and had never been away from her 
England home before. The bridegroom’s 
father had given him a sugar plantation in this 
island, and so they came here to live, naming 
the estate for the bride’s home ‘Jesmond 
Deane’.” 


School Days 7 1 

“What was her name and what did she look 
like?” cried the curious listener. 

“Her name was Judith, and she was like a 
beautiful flower. Her hair was golden, her 
eyes were as blue as the sea and her skin like 
the petals of a rose; and she was as sweet and 
lovely as she looked. 

“They brought with them many beautiful 
and costly wedding gifts from England. A 
rosewood spinet, books and pictures and many 
other lovely things. By and by, a little baby 
daughter came to them, and they were happier 
than ever before; but when the tiny baby was 
only three days old, some wicked and rebellious 
slaves planned to attack their white masters, 
and before the English troops could subdue 
them, they marched through the country trying 
to kill the white people and to burn their 
homes. 

“The news flew ahead of them, and all of 
the slaves belonging to the Honorable John 
Arundel — for that was the bridegroom’s name 
— all of the slaves but two, left Jesmond 
Deane and went to join the insurgents. The 
two faithful ones were an old butler and 
‘Mammy’ who dearly loved her young mis- 
tress. 

“Together, with the' help of the master, 


72 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

they carried the young mother and her baby in 
a sedan chair, and hid them among the tall 
canes in the cane field. 

“Then Mammy, not daring to leave the baby 
with its mother for fear its crying might betray 
the hiding place, put it in the capacious pocket 
of her apron, tied a lump of sugar in a soft 
rag, and put it into the baby’s mouth to suck, 
so that it would not cry, and went out upon the 
road to join the others, that they might not 
suspect her of guarding her mistress or the 
baby. 

“When she met these wicked slaves, they 
said, ‘Ole woman, what yo’ got dere?’ And 
she answered ‘jes a yam’, and the baby never 
cried once, so they believed it was a yam, and 
that is how its life was saved.’’ 

“The young mother and father?” cried 
Judith. “They were not discovered either?” 

“No, M said Granny, “they were not discov- 
ered either, and lived happily for many years 
after; but all their beautiful furniture was 
chopped up and the house wrecked.” 

“They did not mind that, if they had you, 
Granny, and each other, I think you must be 
like my beautiful great-grandmother, for you 
are beautiful, too. Do you think I shall 


School Days 73 

ever see where they lived in England ?” 

“I am very sure you will,” Granny answered, 
“for some day your father will take you to 
visit his people in Scotland, and then you will 
see the home of your great-grandmother, too, 
in England. Now run along, dearie. See! 
The sun is coming out, and the storm is 
over.” 

“Oh Granny, you are the dearest grand- 
mother any girl ever had, and I don’t know 
what other girls do, who aren’t so lucky as to 
have you for their very own,” Judith said, 
throwing her arms around Granny’s neck, and 
the soft white plaits and the sunny curls bobbed 
together very sweetly. 

One Saturday morning Judith and Damaris 
met at the garden gate, bright and early, 
dressed in their school frocks, and waiting 
for the tram that usually carried them to 
school — but they were not bound for school 
this morning. 

“Miss Rossitor said she would meet us at 
Nelson’s statue at a quarter past eight, and 
the girls would be with her. Won’t it be fun 
to go to all the familiar places, and to sort of 
see them as Maiyotte and Lucia and Maria 
see them?” said Judith. 


74 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

“Lots of fun,” Damans answered, I feel 
proud to be showing the interesting things 
here to the girls, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do,” said Judith. “If we 
were sent to school in Montevideo, where 
Lucia and Maria live, or to Martinique, where 
Maiyotte’s home is, they would be proud to 
show us their towns, too.” 

When the tram stopped at Trafalgar 
Square, there stood Miss Rossitor with the 
three little girls who were strangers, for whom 
she had planned the little trip about the town, 
inviting Judith and Damaris that they might 
become friends. 

Maiyotte, whose parents desired her to 
learn English had been sent from the neighbor- 
ing island of Martinique to school in Barba- 
dos; Lucia and Maria had come all the way 
from Uruguay in South America, to spend the 
winter with their grandparents, whose home 
was in this Island. 

“Now where shall we start?” Miss Ross- 
itor asked. “I think we will begin in the right 
place — with the government and the public 
buildings.” So they crossed the white road, 
and entered the South Gate which led them to 
the main corridor of the buildings. 

On the first floor were the offices of the 


School Days 7 J 

Attorney General, the Soliciter General, the 
Master in Chancery, and the Colonial Treas- 
urer, and passing these, they mounted to the 
upper story to the Legislative Council Cham- 
ber and the House of Assembly Chamber. 

“These are the portraits of the Sovereigns 
of Great Britain, beginning with James I, in 
whose reign this island was acquired, and end- 
ing with Queen Victoria,” explained Miss 
Rossitor, showing the little visitors the stained 
glass windows of the Assembly Room. 
“Which one of you can tell me, without look- 
ing, the order in which they come?” 

“James I, Charles I, Cromwell (only he was 
not a sovereign), Charles II, James II, 
William and Mary, Queen Anne, George I, 
II, III, and IV, William IV, and Queen Vic- 
toria,” said Judith, shutting her eyes, then 
opening them as she finished, to be sure that 
she was right. 

“Good,” said Miss Rossitor, “now who can 
tell me what a Crown Colony is?” 

“A Crown Colony is governed by the mother 
country,” said Judith and Damaris in a 
breath, “but Barbados is not a Crown Colony.” 

“I know,” said Miss Rossitor, smiling, and 
turning to the three little strangers. “Barba- 
dos has never been a Crown Colony, but has a 


76 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

representative form of government founded on 
the Royal Charter granted in 1627, which gave 
to the people of the Island, not only the liberties 
and privileges possessed by the people of Eng- 
land, but the right to make their own laws. 
England sends out a Governor, but the people 
hold elections and choose their representatives 
to meet in assembly and make the laws. The 
first Barbados House of Assembly met about 
1639, and next to the English House of Com- 
mons, is the oldest house of representatives in 
the British Empire. 

“Barbados is very proud of its ancient inde- 
pendence, and is one of the most loyal of Eng- 
land’s possessions, so loyal to the mother coun- 
try that it has earned the name of ‘Little 
England.’ ” 

“I don’t think Lucia and Maria believe in 
kings,” Judith whispered to Damaris. 

“Well we do,” said Damaris, “when they 
are good ones. Republics are all right too, 
when the president is good. The American 
President, Lincoln, was wonderful.” 

“We are so near to the cathedral, let us go 
there now,” Miss Rossitor said, leading the 
way downstairs and out through the gates to 
the white road again, where they turned into 


School Days 77 

St. Michael’s Row. “The dear old cathedral 
with its cool gray vine-covered walls and square 
tower, looks as though it belonged in England, 
children; if it were not for the palm trees 
about I could be quite sure that I was at home.” 

“Look,” she said, as they entered the dim, 
cool interior, “look at the old, old tablets with 
the quaint spelling. See, the date of this one 
is 1660.” 

They walked softly up the aisle — their foot- 
steps, nevertheless, resounded upon the tiled 
floor — to look at the fine stained glass of the 
chancel windows, the center one of the Arch- 
angel Michael; and as they studied its beauty, 
the deep, rich tones of the organ pealed out. 

“That is Mr. Hall, the English organist, 
practicing,” Judith said. “Miss Rossitor, did 
you know how we came to have such a fine or- 
gan?” 

“No dear, how?” 

“It was not meant for Barbados at all, but 
for one of the great cathedrals of South 
America, perhaps for Montevideo, Lucia, but 
the ship that was bringing it was wrecked off 
Barbados, and the cargo and the organ were 
saved and brought ashore here. No one ever 
sent from South America to claim it, and so 


78 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

this island paid the owners and put it here in 
the cathedral.” 

“It is a wonderfully fine organ,” Miss 
Rossitor said, “and I always love to hear it. 
Last Sunday evening we drove out to St. 
George’s Church, a«nd I was surprised to see 
there the beautiful painting of the ‘Resurrec- 
tion,’ in the chancel. They told me that it was 
a genuine Benjamin West.” 

“I know the story of the painting,” Damaris 
said eagerly. “Daddy took us there to see it 
and told us all about it. A long, long time 
ago, the vestry of the church ordered the pic- 
ture from Benjamin West, whom they call the 
American Quaker painter. When it arrived 
the vestry quarreled over the hanging of it, or 
something, and it was not hung at all, but put 
in the boiling house of an estate near the 
church. One of the black laborers at work in 
the boiling house was so afraid of the centu- 
rion’s eyes, which he said always followed him, 
that he poked them out. After a long time, 
the people of the church knew that Benjamin 
West was a great painter, and sent the painting 
to England to be restored. When it came 
back it was hung in the chancel, and has been 
there ever since.” 


School Days 79 

“What an interesting story,” Miss Rossi- 
tor said. “You know we English are very 
proud of Benjamin West, for although he was 
an American, he lived also in England, and suc- 
ceeded Sir Joshua Reynolds as president of 
the Royal Academy.” 

They came out from the cool quiet of the 
cathedral into the brilliant sunshine of the 
tropical morning, and the life of the busy little 
town. 

“Let us go into Broad Street now,” Miss 
Rossitor said, “for I wish to buy a veil.” 

Broad Street, the principal business street 
of the town, is really quite narrow, but quaint 
and full of interest. The flagged side-walks 
and the street teem with life. People of every 
shade and color — Englishmen and Barbadians 
in white linen and helmet hats, black and mu- 
latto venders with trays of many-hued wares 
upon their heads, elbow their way busily along 
the narrow walks. Fine carriages and auto- 
mobiles, oxcarts laden with hogsheads of sugar 
and molasses, thread their way up and down 
continually, turning out for tram cars from the 
suburbs — Strathclyde, Fontabelle and Kensing- 
ton, Belleville and Constitution, Hastings, 
Worthing and St. Lawrence. 


80 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

The narrow street is bordered by splendid 
stores, however, where one can find everything 
that is necessary and many things that are 
lovely, and Miss Rossitor had no trouble in 
buying just the veil she wanted. 

The streets of the town crisscross and wind 
in and out changing names every little way. 
Broad Street merges into Cheapside, Prince 
William Henry Street into the Milk Market, 
all betraying their English origin together with 
High Street, Tudor Street, King Street, Phil- 
adelphia Lane, and many others; while every 
house, in the true English fashion has its own 
name, from the tiniest of cottages, to the 
loveliest of villas set in beautiful tropical 
gardens and surrounded by pink-washed 
walls. 

From Broad Street with its English shops 
and customs, Miss Rossitor took them to Swan 
Street, and here it seemed as if they had 
stepped into a different town. There was the 
same bustle and confusion, but how foreign! 
The street itself is wider — as it needs must be, 
for the shop doors are not only opened wide to 
the passers-by, but the side-walk in front of each 
is piled high with merchandise — brighly colored 
fruits and vegetables, gaily colored dress 
goods, hundreds of yards of laces, pot- 



"the whole street looked like one 
LONG bazaar/' 

































































































































































* 








8i 


Scho'ol Days 

tery, cooking utensils, jellies, sweets, live fowls 
— until the whole street looked like one long 
bazaar, the black merchants all striving to 
make a bargain. 

The little foreigners were delighted with the 
color display. “Comme c’est joiie! (How 
pretty)” said Maiyotte, forgetting her Eng- 
lish, and Judith and Damaris felt this to be a 
compliment, for the white people of the Island 
shop upon Broad Street. 

“Children, I am famished,” said Miss Rossi- 
tor, ‘*‘and the sun’s getting too hot. We will 
go to the tea room and have lunch and fees 
and rest and cool off, and afterward we will 
take a peep at the Curiosity Shop.” 

Lunch and ices sounded delicious, and the 
guests were enchanted, even the shy little stran- 
gers thawing out and chattering, as they sat on 
the rush bottomed native made chairs at the 
dainty tables, eating chicken and lettuce sand- 
wiches, ices served in glasses (which is the 
European way), fruit and cake. 

Beyond the tea room was another room 
filled with pretty things for sale — lovely drawn 
thread work and hand-made laces, for which 
Barbados, with other Caribbean islands, is fa- 
mous. 

The tea room and exchange, as the room 


82 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


for the fancy articles is called, are the thought 
and work of Lady Carter, the American wife 
of an English governor, whom the Islanders 
all love. 

The Curiosity Shop was always fascinating 
to Judith and Damaris, no matter how often 
they had been there before, and Lucia, Maria 
and Maiyotte were delighted with the beauti- 
ful objects collected there; coral beads, and 
necklaces and pins of every size and shade, 
from deepest red to palest pink and white; 
wonderful tortoise shell combs, such as our 
great-grandmothers’ wore, pins for the hair 
and jewel boxes, *made by native Workmen 
from tortoises caught off shore; hundreds of 
kinds of sea corals, great branches and large 
sea fans; marvelous shells, only to be found 
in tropical waters; beautifully marked trop- 
ical woods, made into cabinets and chests; and 
quantities of the sweet-scented kous-kous grass 
fashioned into fans and sachets and other 
pretty devices. 

“I love this kous-kous grass so much,” Miss 
Rossitor said, burying her nose in a great loose 
bunch of it, “that I should like to live in the 
East Indies where it grows, and wher'e they 
have large screens of it, upon which the Coolie 


School Days 83 

servants throw cold water, to cool and scent 
the air at the same time.” 

Judith and Damaris looked at each other; 
they knew what they would make for Miss 
Rossitor’s Christmas present. 


CHAPTER V 


CHRISTMAS 

“Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night! 

Christmas in lands of the ‘hr tree and pine, 

Christmas in lands of the palm tree and vine; 

Christmas where snow-peaks stand solemn and white ; 

Christmas where corn-fields lie sunny and bright; 

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas to-night!” 

Phillips Brooks 

Out in the old garden the Christmas winds 
blew fresh and cool and sweet. Palm trees 
and tamarinds, lime trees and shaddocks, newly 
washed in cool December showers, waved their 
green branches over the roses blooming riot- 
ously below, and over a little bed of English 
violets blossoming in a shady spot beneath the 
gallery windows. 

It was the day before Christmas, and in the 
white villas and busy shops of the town, and in 
the country, where the green cane fields were 
all arrow-plumed, now, and the estate houses 
filled with happy children, all was preparation 
and excitement. 

A great box had come to Galba Lodge, early 
84 


Christmas 


85 

in the morning, and Judith rushed upstairs to 
the schoolroom, where Granny and mother 
were tying up Christmas packages. 

“Mother, mother,” she called, “a box has 
come from Scotland! Daddy has just sent it 
by a porter from the wharf. Do come and 
open it, there may be something inside that 
will not keep.” 

Even Granny and mother were excited over 
a box from Daddy’s people in Scotland, and 
hastened downstairs. Parris was called in to 
take off the lid, and there, on the very top were 
branches of beautiful holly and a little bunch 
of mistletoe, carefully packed in wet cotton and 
laid on thick cardboard so that the dampness 
would not spoil the pretty gifts beneath. The 
holly was quite fresh, and the glossy green 
leaves and bright red berries peeped out from 
the cotton, as if anxious to see for themselves 
the strange tropic flowers all about them. 

Judith was in raptures. “The bits of white 
cotton must look like the snow,” she cried. 
“Mother, let us put a branch by Daddy’s place 
at breakfast, to surprise him.” 

“I think we will trim the drawing-room with 
it now,” Mrs. Craig said, “and then it will be 
ready for to-night.” 

“Oh mother, do let me help,” Judith said, 


86 Our Little West Indian Cousin 


and together they put a beautiful branch over 
grandfather’s portrait, then over photographs 
of Daddy’s family, and of his home in Scotland; 
and last of all the littlest branches were 
placed in the silver sconces around the walls, 
which held the Christmas candles; and Judith 
ran off with a holly twig to show Damaris. 

School had closed several days before, and 
the friends had had their hands very full in- 
deed finishing Christmas presents. 

Four very plump pin cushions, made of pretty 
silk, had been stuffed for mother and Granny 
and the aunts; and the two children had sat on 
the circle, patiently tying together little bunches 
of kous-kous grass for a handkerchief case for 
Miss Rossitor, lining it with pale blue satin 
and tying it with ribbon to match. Then each 
had made one more by herself, Judith a prim- 
rose one for Damaris, and Damaris a pink one 
for Judith, and neither guessed the other’s 
secret, which was great fun, for secrets are 
the proper things to have at Christmas time ! 

There had been an enchanting trip to the 
Curiosity Shop with Daddy, to buy for mother 
a high tortoise shell comb for her pretty hair, 
and for each of the Aunts, a little tortoise 
shell jewel case; then a shopping expedition 
with mother to the Exchange, for a set of 


Christmas 


87 

drawn thread doilies for Granny, and a visit 
to the old book shop on High Street to pick 
out a copy of Dickens’ “Christmas Carol” for 
Daddy. 

For days, Granny and mother had been mak- 
ing goodies in the buttery and Charlotte had 
made endless trips to the bakeshop to have 
them baked; big cakes and little cakes, iced or 
trimmed with citron and spices; golden flaky 
Yorkshire cake, made from a recipe of Ju- 
dith’s great-grandmother, Scotch currant scones 
for Daddy, and tarts, to be filled with sorrel 
jam. 

Sorrel is a delicious cool drink, made from 
parts of the flowers of the sorrel-bush, which 
ripen at Christmas time, becoming a beautiful 
deep red. Sorrel belongs to the hibiscus fam- 
ily, of those beautiful flowers I have told you, 
and it is used also for making jelly and jam — 
looking and tasting much like our cranberry 
jelly of the north. 

The Christmas plum pudding steamed gently 
on one of Charlotte’s cranes in the old fire- 
place, and in the kitchen doorway, Parris was 
plucking the Christmas goose. 

“Has your tree been put up?” Damaris 
asked, when the holly twig had been admired 
and showed to every one. “Ours is a beauty.” 


88 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

“Yes,” Judith answered, “and it’s the big- 
gest we’ve had for ages. Mother has shut the 
doors, but I had a peep first.” 

“There’s a carriage coming in the gate, I 
wonder whose it is?” 

“It’s Cousin Tom and Nick,” Damaris cried, 
and both children ran out to meet them. 

“Merry Christmas,” called Nick, disdaining 
the carriage step and jumping over the wheels. 
“We’ve brought you some stuff for Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas,” called Mr. Deane as 
Mrs. Craig came hurrying from the gallery to 
greet them, and to find him lifting out a great 
jar of sling, long joints of sugar cane, which 
the children seized rapturously; and a basket 
of fruit, fresh picked, — ripe oranges with 
bright green skins and little leaf twigs, pine- 
apples, great yellow shaddocks, grapefruit, and 
fresh green cocoanuts. 

“You have brought us some of almost every- 
thing that grows at Nicholas Abbey,” Mrs. 
Craig said, “and how delicious they look.” 

Mr. Deane could not stop, so Julia was sent 
to bring glasses of sorrel and little Christmas 
cakes to the carriage, and then they drove over 
to Damaris’ home to deliver similar baskets of 
fruit and a second big jar of sling, Judith and 
Damaris on the back seat, sucking sugar cane. 


Christmas 


89 

As Mr. Deane and Nick drove away to the 
country, leaving the two little girls at Galba 
Lodge gate, Nick called back, “Don’t forget 
the Christmas picnic at Lord’s Castle.” 

“How could we forget it!” they both cried. 
How could they indeed, for the picnic on the 
day after Christmas, when the Deanes from 
Nicholas Abbey and the Deanes from town, the 
Craigs and the Daytons, and other friends were 
to meet at Lord’s Castle for a glorious holiday, 
had been planned and looked forward to for 
weeks. 

Christmas Eve came at last, and in one cor- 
ner of the drawing-room was the tree, very 
big and green and lovely, although it was not 
a fir tree. In Barbados there grows a tall 
beautiful tree with great spreading branches 
and small, very dark green leaves, something 
like the leaves of the yew tree; and because it 
remains the same all the year through, it is 
called the Evergreen Tree, although it is not 
at all like our Northern Evergreen. Great 
branches of this Barbados Evergreen are cut 
and put together in a big earthern jar, and 
reaching to the ceiling, make a lovely 
Christmas tree. 

To-night the branches were covered with 
bulging packages, with red and blue and gold 


90 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

and silver cornucopias of candy, and with glit- 
tering ornaments. All afternoon the drawing- 
room door had been closed, but now the fam- 
ily were assembled, the house servants in the 
gallery, — for they too must see the tree, — 
and the double doors were opened. 

“Oh,” Judith cried, “it is the most beautiful 
tree in the world!” 

There were no lights in the room save from 
the candles burning in the silver sconces round 
the walls, which seemed to shed a fairy radi- 
ance all about, and shone on the happy faces, 
white and black, gathered in the doorway. 
What joy when the gifts marked with the 
owners’ names were taken from the tree and 
distributed ! 

How pretty mother looked with the high 
shell comb in her hair, and Daddy’s corals 
around her throat! How pleased Granny was 
with the doilies, and the aunts with the jewel 
cases, and how ever y one admired the very 
plump pin cushions ! As for the servants, they 
went off delighted!/ carrying material for 
dresses and aprons, gay ribbons and ties, and 
for Parris a whole box of tobacco ! 

There were many lovely gifts on the tree 
for Judith, but the gift she loved best was a 


Christmas 


91 

pin from Daddy, a Scotch thistle in purple and 
white enamel. 

By this time, several old friends had come in 
to see the tree, and the great Christmas cake 
was cut and every one’s health drunk in Christ- 
mas sorrel. There was much fun and merry- 
making and it was very hard to go upstairs 
when Judith’s bedtime came. 

“Put out the light, Nurse please,” she said, 
as Nurse carried the lamp into the dressing- 
room. “The stars are so bright, I want to 
watch them and listen for the carols.” 

On Christmas Eve the black folks go about 
the town singing the Christmas hymns. Tifed 
with the day’s excitement Judith fell quickly 
asleep, to waken presently to their singing: 

“It came upon the midnight clear.” 

After that she seemed to hear them all night 
long, which was quite possible, for they go up 
and down the street singing until daylight. 

By and by, she dreamed that the Christmas 
star was shining right over her bed, but it was 
mother with a lighted candle. 

“Merry Christmas, darling, it is time to get 
up and dress if you are going to early service 
with Daddy and me.” 

“Merry Christmas, mother,” Judith cried, 


92 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

springing out of bed, for she would not have 
missed going with mother and Daddy for any- 
thing. 

The stars were still faintly shining, and the 
garden was hushed and very sweet as they stole 
through it to the gate, and went up the white 
road to the cathedral. 

Judith loved the church on Christmas morn- 
ing. It was crowded to the very doors with 
high and low, rich and poor, white and black, 
all come to worship the Christ Child. Roses 
and green vines trimmed it everywhere; from 
the gallery the organ pealed out the Christ- 
mas hymns, and in the chancel the choristers 
sang “Peace on earth, good will toward men.” 

Damaris was waiting at the garden gate 
when they came home, her arms full of Christ- 
mas gifts to show Judith, and a merry family 
gathered round the breakfast table. 

“Mother have the people come for their bas- 
kets yet?” Judith asked. 

“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Craig answered, “and as 
soon as we have finished breakfast we will give 
them out.” 

On the buttery floor were baskets of pro- 
visions for the poor black folk, who were 
gathered about the kitchen door, waiting to re- 
ceive them, as they had every Christmas that 


Christmas 


93 

Judith could remember; baskets of sweet po- 
tatoes and yams, biscuits, tea and coffee and 
rice, flour and Indian meal. “Thank yo’ mis- 
tress,” “Wish yo’ Merry Chris’mus mistress,” 
“Wish yo’ Merry Chris’mus Miss Judith” they 
said, smiling and curtseying, and putting the 
baskets on their heads, traipsed back down the 
drive again, with Parris standing guard over 
the monkeys in the Galba trees, lest they should 
steal the poor folks’ Christmas treat. 

Every one went to the eleven o’clock service 
at the cathedral, and Granny and the Aunts, 
Judith and her parents filled the old family 
pew. In this English Island of Barbados, 
Christmas Day is a church festival which every 
one keeps. The day after Christmas is also a 
holiday throughout the Island, when picnics 
and dances, and all sorts of merrymaking take 
place. 

The afternoon seemed all too short to Judith 
and Damaris, dipping into new books, sampling 
boxes of sweets, admiring everybody’s pretty 
gifts, and before they knew it, it was time to 
dress for dinner. 

“It has been such a lovely Christmas Day,” 
Damaris said. “Hasn’t it Judy?” 

“Just perfect” Judith answered, “and it is 
not nearly over yet. There is dinner, and a 


94 Our Little West Indian Cousin 

lovely time this evening, and then to-morrow, 
and the picnic at Lord’s Castle.” 

The great dining-table was stretched to its 
utmost limits for many guests gathered about 
it; dear old Aunt Deb, Judith’s great-aunt, who 
made a beautiful picture, with her white curls, 
and lavender silk dress; old Mr. Gray, grand- 
father’s friend, who had dined at Galba Lodge 
for many Christmases; mother’s friend, Mrs. 
Denton, whose husband was in far off India, 
and her three pretty young daughters; friends 
of Daddy’s whose people were at home, across 
the water, Mr. and Mrs. Deane with Damaris, 
and two young boy cousins from the country, 
whose parents were in England. 

How they all exclaimed when Julia brought 
in the Chrismas pudding with a branch of holly 
in the middle, and what fun they had with the 
mistletoe hanging in the doorway, which no 
one had noticed before. 

When the dinner was over, they gathered in 
the drawing-room where the Christmas candles 
we re lighted, and Christmas games were 
played; then the floor was cleared for danc- 
ing, and when it came time for Sir Roger de 
Coverley, Granny and Mr. Gray led off. 

Presently, Mrs. Craig went to the piano and 
began playing Auld Lang Syne, at which every- 


Christmas 


95 

one joined hands and sang for those who were 
far away. Then Granny asked for the Christ- 
mas hymns and every one gathered around the 
piano; Judith and Damaris standing happily 
hand in hand sang together. 

“Oh little town of Bethlehem! 

How still we see thee lie; 

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep 
The silent stars go by ; 

Yet in thy dark streets shineth 
The everlasting Light; 

The hopes and fears of all the years 
Are met in thee to-night. 

“For Christ is born of Mary, 

And gathered all above 

While mortals sleep, the angels keep 

Their watch of wondering love. 

Oh morning stars together 
Proclaim the Saviour’s birth! 

And praises sing to God the King 
And peace to men on earth.” 

Out in the garden the Christmas stars looked 
down on the palm trees, and on the roses nod- 
ding sleepy heads. 


THE END 



Selections from 
The Page Company’s 
Books for Young People 


THE BLUE BONNET SERIES 

Each large 12mo, cloth decorative , illustrated, 
per volume $1.75 

A TEXAS BLUE BONNET 

By Caroline E. Jacobs. 

“ The book’s heroine. Blue Bonnet, has the very finest 
kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness.” — Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

BLUE BONNET’S RANCH PARTY 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Edyth Ellerbeck Read. 
“ A healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every 
chapter.” — Boston Transcript . 

BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards. 

“ It is bound to become popular because of its whole- 
someness and its many human touches.” — Boston Globe. 

BLUE BONNET KEEPS HOUSE 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards. 

“ It cannot fail to prove fascinating to girls in their 
teens.” — New York Sun. 

BLUE BONNET — DEBUTANTE 

By Lela Horn Richards. 

An interesting picture of the unfolding of life for 
Blue Bonnet. 

BLUE BONNET OF THE SEVEN STARS 

By Lela Horn Richards. 

“ The author’s intimate detail and charm of narration 
gives the reader an interesting story of the heroine’s war 
activities.” — Pittsburgh Leader . 

A — 1 


TEE PAGE COMPANY'S 


THE YOUNG PIONEER SERIES 

By Harrison Adams 

Each ISmOj cloth decorative, illustrated, 'per 
volume $ 1.65 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO; Or, 

Clearin® the Wilderness. 

“ Such books as this are an admirable means of stimu- 
lating among the young Americans of to-day interest in 
the story of their pioneer ancestors and the early days of 
the Republic.” — Boston Globe. 

THE PIONEER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES ; 

Or, On the Trail op the Iroquois. 

“ The recital of the daring deeds of the frontier is not 
only interesting but instructive as well and shows the 
Sterling type of character which these days of self-reliance 
and trial produced.” — American Tourist, Chicago . 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI; 

Or, The Homestead in the Wilderness. 

“The story is told with spirit, and is full of adven- 
ture.” — New York Sun. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSOURI; 

Or, In the Country of the Sioux. 

“ Vivid in style, vigorous in movement, full of dramatic 
situations, true to historic perspective, this story is a 
capital one for boys.” — Watchman Examiner , New York 
City. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE YELLOW- 
STONE; Or, Lost in the Land of Wonders. 
“There is plenty of lively adventure and action and 
the story is well told.” — Duluth Herald , Duluth , Minn. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE COLUMBIA; 

Or, In the Wilderness of the Great Northwest. 

“ The story is full of spirited action and contains much 
valuable historical information.” — Boston Herald,, 

A— 2 


BOOKS FOR YOtINO PEOPLE 


THE HADLEY HALL SERIES 

By Louise M. Breitenbach 
Each large 12mo , cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume $ 1 . 6 $ 

ALMA AT HADLEY HALL 

“ The author is to be congratulated on having written 
such an appealing book for girls.” — Detroit Free Press. 

ALMA’S SOPHOMORE YEAR 

“ It cannot fail to appeal to the lovers of good things 
in girls’ books.” — Boston Herald. 

ALMA’S JUNIOR YEAR 

“ The diverse characters in the boarding-school are 
strongly drawn, the incidents are well developed and the 
action is never dull.” — The Boston Herald. 

ALMA’S SENIOR YEAR 

“ A healthy, natural atmosphere breathes from every 
chapter.” — Boston Transcript. 


THE GIRLS OF 
FRIENDLY TERRACE SERIES 

By Harriet Lummis Smith 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume ....... $1.65 

THE GIRLS OF FRIENDLY TERRACE 

“A book sure to please girl readers, for the author 
seems to understand perfectly the girl character.” — 
Boston Globe. 

PEGGY RAYMOND’S VACATION 

“It is a wholesome, hearty story.” — Utica Observer. 

PEGGY RAYMOND’S SCHOOL DAYS 

The book is delightfully written, and contains lots of 
exciting incidents. 

THE FRIENDLY TERRACE QUARTETTE 

These four lively girls found their opportunities to 
serve their country. The story of their adventures will 
bring anew to every girl who reads about them the reali- 
zation of what she owes to her country. 

A — 3 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


FAMOUS LEADERS SERIES 

By Charles H. L. Johnston 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative , illustrated, 

; per volume . . . . . . $2.00 

FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS 

“ More of such books should be written, books that 
acquaint young readers with historical personages in a 
pleasant, informal way.” — New York Sun. 

FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS 

“Mr. Johnston has done faithful work in this volume, 
and his relation of battles, sieges and struggles of these 
famous Indians with the whites for the possession of 
America is a worthy addition to United States History.” 
— New York Marine Journal. 

FAMOUS SCOUTS 

“ It is the kind of a book that will have a great fascina- 
tion for boys and young men.” — New London Day. 

FAMOUS PRIVATEERSMEN AND ADVEN- 
TURERS OF THE SEA 

“The tales are more than merely interesting; they are 
entrancing, stirring the blood with thrilling force.” — 
Pittsburgh Post. 

FAMOUS FRONTIERSMEN AND HEROES OF 
THE BORDER 

“ The accounts are not only authentic, but distinctly 
readable, making a book of wide appeal to all who love 
the history of actual adventure.” — Cleveland Leader. 

FAMOUS DISCOVERERS AND EXPLORERS 
OF AMERICA 

“The book is an epitome of some of the wildest and 
bravest adventures of which the world has known.” — 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

FAMOUS GENERALS OF THE GREAT WAR 

Who Led the United States and Her Allies to a Glo- 
rious Victory. 

“The pages of this book have the charm of romance 
without its unreality. The book illuminates, with life- 
like portraits, the history of the World War.” — Roche* 
ter Post Express. 

A — 4 


: "BOOKS TOP YOUNG people 


HILDEGARDE - MARGARET SERIES 

By Laura E. Richards 
Eleven Volumes 

The Hildegarde-Margaret Series, beginning with 
K Queen Hildegarde ” and ending with “ The Merry- 
weathers.” make one of the best and most popular series 
of books for girls ever written. 

Each large 12mo, cloth decorative , illustrated, 
per volume . . . . . . . $1.75 

The eleven volumes boxed as a set • • $19.25 

UST OF TITLES 

QUEEN HILDEGARDE 

HILDEGARDE’S HOLIDAY 

HILDEGARDE’S HOME 

HILDEGARDE’S NEIGHBORS 

HILDEGARDE’S HARVEST 

THREE MARGARETS 

MARGARET MONTFORT 

PEGGY 

RITA 

FERNLEY HOUSE 

THE MERRYWEATHERS 
A —5 


THE PAGE COMP ANT 8 


THE CAPTAIN JANUARY SERIES 

By Laura E. Richards 

Each one volume, 12mo, cloth decorative, illus- 
trated, yer volume 90 cents 

CAPTAIN JANUARY 

A charming idyl of New England coast life, whose 
success has been very remarkable. 

SAME. Illustrated Holiday Edition . . $1.35 

MELODY: The Story of a Child. 

MARIE 

A companion to “ Melody ” and A Captain J anuary.” 

ROSIN THE BEAU 

A sequel to “Melody” and “Marie.” 

SNOW-WHITE; Or, The House in the Wood. 

JIM OF HELLAS; Or, In Durance Vile, and a 
companion story, Bethesda Pool. 

NARCISSA 

And a companion story, In Verona, being two delight- 
ful short stories of New England life. 

“ SOME SAY” 

And a companion story. Neighbors in Cyrus. 

NAUTILUS 

“ ‘ Nautilus ’ is by far the best product of the author’s 
powers, and is certain to achieve the wide success it so 
richly merits.” 

ISLA HERON 

This interesting story is written in the author’s usual 
charming manner. 

A — 6 


BOOKS FOB YOUNG PEOPLE 


DELIGHTFUL BOOKS FOR LITTLE 
FOLKS 

By Laura E. Richards 

THREE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, 12mo, with eight plates in full color 
and many text illustrations . . . . $1.75 

“ Little ones will understand and delight in the stories 
and poems.” — Indianapolis News. 

FIVE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.75 
A charming collection of short stories and clever 
poems for children. 

MORE FIVE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.75 
A noteworthy collection of short stories and poems 
for children, which will prove as popular with mothers 
as with boys and girls. 

FIVE MICE IN A MOUSE TRAP 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.75 

The story of their lives and other wonderful things 
related by the Man in the Moon, done in the vernacular 
from the lunacular form by Laura E. Richards. 


A NEW BOOK FOR GIRLS 

By Laura E. Richards 

HONOR BRIGHT 

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated . . . $1.75 

No girl ever deserved more to have a series of stories 
written about her than does HONOR BRIGHT, the new- 
est heroine of a talented author who has created many 
charming girls. Born of American parents who die 
in the far East, Honor spends her school days at the 
Pension Madeline in Vevey, Switzerland, surrounded by 
playmates of half a dozen nationalities. As are all of 
Mrs. Richards’ heroines, HONOR BRIGHT is the high- 
est type of the young girl of America, with all the in- 
dependence of character which is American to the core 
in young as in old. 

A — 7 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


THE BOYS’ STORY OF THE 
RAILROAD SERIES 

By Burton E. Stevenson 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 

\ per volume . . . . . . . $1.75 

THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND; Or, The Ad- 
ventures of Allen West. 

“The whole range of section railroading is covered in 
the story.” — Chicago Post. 

THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER 

“ A vivacious account of the varied and often hazard- 
ous nature of railroad life.” — Congregationalist. 

THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ It is a book that can be unreservedly commended to 
anyone who loves a good, wholesome, thrilling, informing 
yarn.” — Passaic News. 

THE YOUNG APPRENTICE; Or, Allan West’s 
Chum. 

“The story is intensely interesting.” — Baltimore Sun. 


BOY SCOUT STORIES 

By Brewer Corcoran 

Published with the approval of “ The Boy Scouts of 
America.” 

Each, one volume, 12mo, cloth decorative, illus- 
trated, per volume . . . . . . $1.75 

THE BOY SCOUTS OF KENDALLVILLE 

The story of a bright young factory worker who can- 
not enlist because he has three dependents, but his 
knowledge of woodcraft and wig-wagging, gained through 
Scout practice, enables him to foil a German plot to blow 
up the munitions factory. 

THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE WOLF PATROL 

The boys of Gillfield who were not old enough to go 
to war found just as many thrills at home, chasing a 
German spy. 

A — 8 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE CARITA SERIES 

By Lucy M. Blanchard 
Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, illus- 
trated $1.65 

CARITA, AND HOW SHE BECAME A PATRI- 
OTIC AMERICAN 

“One of the strongest points of the book is the fact 
that its characters seem to be real people, doing the 
things that real people do. More than that, they are 
wholesome, worth-while folks whose companionship in- 
spires a sane and pleasing view of life.” — Salt Lake 
Tribune, Salt Lake City. 

CARITA’S NEW WORLD 

“Wholesome and altogether fascinating; all this can 
be truly said of all of Miss Blanchard’s stories for girls. 
* Carita’s New World * has both of these characteristics.” 
— Troy Record, Troy, N. Y. 

“ There is a fine originality about Carita that will make 
her adorable to all girls.” — Oakland Tribune. 


THE MERRYMAKERS SERIES 

By Herschel Williams 

Each, one volume, 12mo, illustrated . . $1.65 

THE MERRYMAKERS IN NEW YORK 

“ The book is bright and clever and gives an excellent 
picture of our great metropolis. One can in his imagina- 
tion see New York most entertainingly through the eyes 
of the young Merrymakers.” — St. Andrew's Cross, Phila- 
delphia. 

THE MERRYMAKERS IN CHICAGO 

The Merrymakers who had such a splendid Christmas 
vacation in New York, enjoy another rollicking good 
time, — a summer vacation in Chicago. While brother 
Ned, the young newspaper reporter, “ covers ” the Re- 
publican national convention in Chicago, Carl, the oldest 
of the four sightseeing Merrymakers, decides that he 
wfftits to own a department store some day, and inciden- 
tally learns all the steps he must take from being an 
errand boy to a merchant magnate. 

A — 9 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


IDEAL BOOKS FOR GIRLS 

Each, one volume, cloth decorative, 12mo, . $1.10 

A LITTLE CANDY BOOK FOR A LITTLE GIRL 

By Amy L. Waterman. 

“ This is a peculiarly interesting little book, written in 
the simple, vivacious style that makes these little manuals 
as delightful to read as they are instructive.” — Nash- 
ville Tennessean and American. 

A LITTLE COOK-BOOK FOR A LITTLE GIRL 

By Caroline French Benton. 

This book explains how to cook so simply that no one 
can fail to understand every word, even a complete 
novice. 

A LITTLE HOUSEKEEPING BOOK FOR A 
LITTLE GIRL 

By Caroline French Benton. 

A little girl, home from school on Saturday mornings, 
finds out how to make helpful use of her spare time, and 
also how to take proper pride and pleasure in good 
housework. 

A LITTLE SEWING BOOK FOR A LITTLE 
GIRL 

By Louise Frances Cornell. 

“ It is comprehensive and practical, and yet revealingly 
instructive. It takes a little girl who lives alone with 
her mother, and shows how her mother taught her the 
art of sewing in its various branches. The illustrations 
aid materially.” — Wilmington Every Evening. 

A LITTLE PRESERVING BOOK FOR A 
LITTLE GIRL 

By Amy L. Waterman. 

In simple, clear wording, Mrs. Waterman explains 
every step of the process of preserving or “canning” 
fruits and vegetables. 

A LITTLE GARDENING BOOK FOR A LITTLE 
GIRL 

By Peter Martin. 

This little volume is an excellent guide for the young 
gardener. In addition to truck gardening, the book gives 
valuable information on flowers, the planning of the 
garden, selection of varieties, etc. 

A — 10 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS 

(Trade Mark) 

By Annie Fellows Johnston 
Each large 12mo , cloth, illustrated, per volume . $1.90 

THE LITTLE COLONEL STORIES 

(Trade Mark) 

Being three “ Little Colonel ” stories in the Cosy Corner 
Series, “ The Little Colonel,” “ Two Little Knights of 
Kentucky,” and “ The Giant Scissors,” in a single volume. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HOUSE PARTY 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HOLIDAYS 

(Trade Mark)i*" j 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HERO 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING- 

(Trade Mark) 

SCHOOL 

THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

[ (Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS 

(Trade Mark) 

VACATION 

THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HONOR 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S KNIGHT COMES 

(Trade Mark) 

RIDING 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S CHUM, MARY 

WARE (Trade Mark) 

MARY WARE IN TEXAS 
MARY WARE’S PROMISED LAND 

These twelve volumes, boxed as a set, $22.80. 

A — 11 


THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


SPECIAL HOLIDAY EDITIONS 

Each small quarto, cloth decorative , per volume . $1.50 

New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page 
drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL 

(Trade Mark) 

TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 
BIG BROTHER 

THE JOHNSTON JEWEL SERIES 

Each small 16mo , cloth decorative, with frontispiece 

and decorative text borders, per volume $0.75 

IN THE DESERT OF WAITING: The Legend 

op Camelback Mountain. 

THE THREE WEAVERS: A Fairy Tale for 
Fathers and Mothers as Well as for Their 
Daughters. 

KEEPING TRYST: A Tale op King Arthur's 
Time. 

THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART 
THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME: 

A Fairy Play for Old and Young. 

THE JESTER’S SWORD 


THE LITTLE COLONEL’S GOOD TIMES 
BOOK 

Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series . $2.50 

Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . 5.00 

Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg. 

“ A mighty attractive volume in which the owner may 
record the good times she has on decorated pages, and 
under the directions as it were of Annie Fellows John- 
ston.” — Buffalo Express . 

A — 12 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK -—First 
Series 

Quarto, boards, printed in colors . . . .$1.90 

A series of “ Little Colonel ” dolls. Each has several 
changes of costume, so they can be appropriately clad 
for the rehearsal of any scene or incident in the series. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK— -Sec- 
ond Series 

Quarto, boards, printed in colors . . . $1.90 

An artistic series of paper dolls, including not only 
lovable Mary Ware, the Little Colonel’s chum, but many 
another of the much loved characters which appear in 
the last three volumes of the famous “Little Colonel 
Series.” 

THE STORY OF THE RED CROSS: as Told to 
the Little Colonel 

Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated . . . $1.25 

This story originally appeared in “ The Little Colonel’s 
Hero,” but the publishers decided to issue it as a 
separate volume. 

“ No one could tell the story of the Red Cross with 
more vividness and enthusiasm than this author, and 
here she is at her best. No book published during the 
Great War is more valuable and timely than this appeal- 
ing story of the beginning of the Red Cross.” — New 
York Tribune. 

“ It deserves a place in every school as well as in 
every home where the work of the Red Cross is appre- 
ciated.” — Evening Express , Portland, Me. 

“ Not only VERY interesting, but has large educa- 
tional value.” — Lookout, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.90 

“ The book is a very clever handling of the greatest 
event in the history of the world.” — Rochester, N. Y. } 
Herald. 

A — 13 


TEE PAGE COMP ANT 8 


THE LITTLE COUSINS OF LONG 
AGO SERIES 

The volumes in this series describe the boys and girls 
of ancient times. 

Each small 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 90c. 

OUR LITTLE ATHENIAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE CARTHAGINIAN COUSIN OF 
LONG AGO 

By Clara V. Winlow. 

OUR LITTLE CELTIC COUSIN OF LONG AGO 

By Evaleen Stein. 

OUR LITTLE FRANKISH COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Evaleen Stein. 

OUR LITTLE MACEDONIAN COUSIN OF 
LONG AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE NORMAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Evaleen Stein. 

OUR LITTLE ROMAN COUSIN OF LONG AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE SAXON COUSIN OF LONG AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE SPARTAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE VIKING COUSIN OF LONG AGO 

By Charles H. L. Johnston. 

A— 14 












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